#✨ shimmering shorts ✨

[luminescentlyricist]

🎠 Petals, Sticks And Stones 🎠

While the idea for the Sparkslide Circus troupe, Carrie and Homura belong to me, Kazuki and Dahlia actually belong to @c4ndystarz and @maimai020104 respectively! Go give them the incredible amount of love they deserve.

~~

The pounding in Carrie Astor’s chest was unavoidable. She’d awoken with that pain for many nights in a row, gasping for air like she’d been choking. But there were things to do as morning broke, so it usually culminated in her simply rolling back over in her bed to get what little rest she could. This time, though, she sat up. Fingers curling loosely to grip the sheets, she hauled her tired body further upwards to rest against the headboard. A groan of protest parted her lips, as was normal for that early in the morning, but she doubted the show would wait for her to get her beauty sleep. And even if it did, on a rare occasion indeed, there were people who expected more from her than laziness. Although she hadn’t been assigned a specific role in the Sparkslide Circus’ troupe, doing whatever was needed to fill in the gaps between all manner of excuses, the variety instilled in her a hunger to continue moving forward.

It was this hunger that kept her awake at all hours of the night, tossing and turning until the sheets tangled around her legs and she had to sit up to fix them. She craned her head to look out the window, crinkling her nose in distaste at the thin beam of morning light beginning to invade her peaceful darkness. Still eager to avoid whatever laborious tasks Homura - the troupe’s Ringmaster and her father, no less - had in store, the young woman groaned louder. Her throat was sore from the last night’s performances, as she’d been kept up talking with a few of the other members before being taken aside by him and given an earful of additional tasks.

The work wasn’t thankless.

Her thoughts shifted towards her friends in the troupe as she fumbled about for a stray glass of water on her nightstand, narrowly avoiding knocking it over a small music box she kept there. Taking a long and grateful sip, the performer found herself reminiscing about the origins of the trinket. It had been a gift from one Kazuki Rosario, the troupe’s own self-professed ‘master’ aerialist and first companion to Carrie when she’d begun her own forays into the world beneath the stage-lights. She’d had to patch it up many a time, of course, owing to her disastrous strokes of misfortune, but they never seemed to mind when she repetitively apologised. If anything, the meetings were only an excuse for them to bond in what little leisure time they were given. No matter what, he seemed to tease a smile out of her.

She would’ve wished to meet with him, then, but looking at the sorry state of the music box reminded her of just how irritable he could get early in the day. It wasn’t their fault. Nobody truly got enough sleep in the troupe, and that wasn’t even on her father’s list of concerns. He only wanted to present something good to the people, no matter what expenses and stresses were piled onto his loyal performers. Kaz had been an active member in shows for as long as Carrie’s memory stretched, however poor, though they were both similar in age to one another. Neither of them got any special treatment, despite the many years they’d worked together - and Carrie’s inevitable closeness to the forefront of the show.

Swinging her legs a few more times, the only thing left to do was greet the day that hadn’t yet arrived. Now, with mind racing, she looked at the clock on the wall. Six o’clock was definitely earlier than she would’ve liked to be up and moving, but was just late enough to leave little room for boredom. If she wasn’t already planning something, people could tell her things to be done. Or, of course, she could invade any number of the other tents that she’d been given a key to. Supplies always needed replenishing in the communal prop tent, no matter the number of resourceful clowns who only worried about their own. Thus, she stood up, immediately swaying in protest.

“Good grief. You’re not going to die from a few chores, Miss Carrie.”

With a croaking voice the woman scolded herself, turning back to neaten the sheets of the bed and grimacing at the comparatively loud shifting of the mattress. Everything was grating for a time, just until she could put the music box on and soothe herself with the melody. Though it often stuttered and the handle was nearly falling off, a touch of paint (on top of some luck with tinkering) would do its job. The tune it produced was akin to a lullaby, something soft that urged one almost to sleep. For Carrie, it was a reminder of the shows that Kaz was in. The ways the silk and hoops moved in synchrony with her friend’s body was just as captivating, and she recognised it as one of their own tracks. Usually, there were musical sets already in place, but rules never mattered too much to Kaz. 

Boy, they’d had to fight her father to get that permission…

A small smile rested on her face as she worked, deciding not to touch the box for the time being. Things that were precious were few and far between, and she feared each handle-crank would be the one to stop the music for good. Instead, Carrie pulled on her shoes and fumbled tying the laces in the dark, guided only by the mocking sliver of light from her stubborn curtains. It wasn’t easy in the best days, due to certain dexterity issues she’d always had. Far more humiliating, however, would be anything falling off in the middle of a show. The thought alone made her shudder as she straightened, swinging her right leg a few times and sighing in relief. That one was a prosthetic, owing to an accident in her early childhood that remained in her mind as little more than a blur of pain and darkness.

Though they were sure their parents wouldn’t refuse to tell them if they asked for clarification on the subject, it made her nervous anyway. Happiness was preferable in their family, in their lives, and to jeopardise that would only consume Carrie with gnawing guilt. It was just one of many things she’d learnt to make herself blend in. No privileges were consciously given to her as an Astor, and she intended to keep it that way. Her dear friend would have even less time to stay and talk, to brighten the skies when her muscles ached, and that wasn’t something she was willing to trade away for a ripple of hope on the horizon.

She opened the curtains for later, hoping that the weather would hold and not present too much of a damper on the mood. It was harder for her to bring people happiness when it didn’t have a reason to personally exist. No matter how many tricks she employed, sadness was the easiest thing for an audience to spot under the glaring lights. The various friends that she walked alongside helped fend back the misery, and it was more than she could ever ask for.

Shaking herself back to reality, the performer busied herself with leaving the tent that served as her lodgings. Though each appeared to be a miniaturised red-and-white circus tent, the walls were solid and structure akin to any other room. Her eyes continued to sweep around anxiously like she hadn’t seen the interior a million times over. A small vase sat on the desk, housing three small blooms. One was a spider-lily that she’d plucked from a miscellaneous show’s congratulatory gifts, finding the colour and design striking. The last two were given to her on seperate occasions. Homura had handed her the strangely wilting dahlia just the day prior, an infuriatingly sly expression that she’d wanted to slap off his face along with it. He’d mentioned that there was a new arrival coming soon, and she’d need the reminder. Of course he had to be cryptic and obnoxious, despite a genuine attempt to do something nice for her.

The other was a rose.

Kazuki had given her many roses, and it’d become a lasting symbol of their bond. It was a shame that Carrie didn’t have a green thumb, but she did the best she could remembering to water them. Many were even de-thorned, to the best of the aerialist’s ability, and he’d announce his arrival with a string of muttered curses more often than not. The oft-necessary first-aid kit in one’s cupboard was an asset to both performers. Her fingers paused in the air reaching for the flower, and she had to remind herself that time wouldn’t pause for her silly whims. It would be safer to leave it out of the buzz and rush of preparations. So she exited the tent with a notable drag in her step, leaving soothing thoughts of rosy fields and sunlight behind along with it.

Of course it was beginning to rain. The light that streamed into her tent had been cold and grey, though she’d not taken any notice of it because of her prior squinting protest. She’d forgotten to bring an umbrella, but that was something trivial. Judging by the steady emergence of people into the main area, it was time to work, and preparations for shows didn’t stop because of the sun’s refusal to shine. It was a pain, seeing as Carrie herself had reservations about being vulnerable in bad weather, but she was only a cog in the entertainment machine. Things wouldn’t work as smoothly without her. With this in mind, she looked toward the only different tent in the vicinity (save for the titular Big Top) and made a note to avoid it for the time being.

Homura insisted on being the centre of everything whenever possible, sly and ‘quiet’ though he was, and it really got on her nerves. Of course he worked in the shadows, puppeteering the lives of the people he claimed to love, but the spotlight was ultimately his - not even his family’s. For this reason, his tent was a measure bigger than the others, draped in navy and gold to contrast those around it. Carrie didn’t want to disturb him when she could continue silently, as she was his personal favourite errand-runner. It was as if she had no more purpose to him than another prop, and fitted well with his hobbies in the art of hypnotism. Unlike other shows, Carrie’d always thought that her father’s participants weren’t quite as willing.

It meant that not even she was safe, and his influences reached farther than the stage. He was never bragging outwardly, no, though the possibility of having her agency taken with a moment’s notice made a shiver course through her body. So she kept her head down and ran herself ragged to make things as perfect as possible, if only to avoid whatever was in store if she stepped out of line. He forced himself to be calm and collected, but those closest to him knew it was just one of many masks he put on for the public. The ruse could drop when the curtains fell.

The young woman continued toward the Big Top, trying her best to convince herself that the shaking of her legs was only due to the cold. There was a commotion there, with many performers beginning to congregate around the fabric entranceway. Her walking then faltered. It was far too early to deal with such a thing when her voice wasn’t even cooperating. So she changed course, deciding to take her time getting to the supply tent. Though her right hand was uncooperative most days, she wanted to try juggling more. However backwards it seemed, she was sure that training herself to her limits would help new horizons open. She denied the foolishness of these thoughts, especially because her father was happy enough to encourage anything that would make ‘his’ shows more interesting.

Setting down the bag she’d grabbed prior, Carrie begun taking stock of items available. There were walls stacked with teetering piles, some housing equipment she found comfortable and others far beyond her reach. There were more people crowded into the tent, but she paid them no mind. Even after years of being around the circus, the sheer magnitude of tricks and toys they had available tended to make her tune out everything else in captivation. Smoothing her hands over a layered mass of aerial silks, she debated taking some of them and meeting Kazuki for practice. 

The thought was comforting, but she needed to start pushing herself if she was going to make her father happy. He’d told her she wasn’t up to par, and the only way to fix that… He left it to her imagination, which was an unkind thing to do. She thought badly of herself more often than not. After choosing a set of juggling balls emblazoned with various insect shapes and putting them into her bag, she barely had enough time to turn around before a figure called out to her. She was too engrossed to hear what they’d said, nor decipher who it’d been until a hand grabbed her shoulder to shake her away. Strands of pink and blue dyed hair framed the aerialist’s perpetually smiling face as Carrie faced them, though the expression fell into concern seeing her irritated.

“Carrie-“

She shook Kazuki’s touch and attention both away, wordless in her rejection, continuing to walk out of the tent with not a single thought in mind until it finally dawned on her just how rude she’d been. Beginning to turn around to seek his familiar fairy-floss hair in the crowd, she instead stepped on a crag of the pavement before she could find her footing. Roughly falling down, she exclaimed, attempting to brace herself and having one of her habitually-worn gloves slip off. Before she could right herself and begin gathering the juggling balls, an unfamiliar pair of hands stretched down into her vision.

Grateful for the help, Carrie took the performer’s hands into her own and hauled herself upright, bending over to pick up some of the supplies before they escaped her grasp in the increasing throng of people. She paused upon seeing the blades on their belt, however, and the grateful smile that’d bent her lips upward prior wavered. Great. Just what we need - more people doing dangerous acts. Straightening, it came to mind that the figure before her must have been Sparkslide Circus’ new arrival. Before she could speak, however, she was caught up in the subject of her wonder again. Judging by the handles’ sculpt, the knives were crafted specifically for throwing. Carrie was tempted to ask the new arrival whether she could handle the skill, too, but caught her shaking hands in her field of vision too soon.

Absolutely not.

In the suspended moment, Dahlia - the knife-thrower - had taken note of the missing glove, holding it out to Carrie. The other used it to hide a variety of cuts and wounds, the most interesting of which was a still-healing scar running the length of her palm. This was nothing of concern, being one of many such injuries owing to a life of performance coupled with horrendous bad luck. But it managed to capture Dahlia’s attention, for better or worse. While they didn’t want to invade and ask Carrie where they’d sustained the injury, they walked silently alongside the girl as she’d begun to leave. After a moment, Carrie turned toward Dahlia, gesturing vaguely to the Big Top gleaming behind them.

“Sorry about that. The name’s Carrie. The Ringmaster let me know yesterday that there was a new arrival coming to the troupe, but didn’t bother specifying when. He never gives enough attention to the things that actually matter. Thank you for your help.”

Dahlia’s expression was far more gentle than expected, seeing how sharp her skills were bound to be. While Homura didn’t shy away from training those he thought were worth the time, it was oddly rarer still for him to take already-trained members into the ranks. It was riskier, too, being a hypnotist, for him to let anyone slip from his grasp. But he was overconfident. He believed he could pick apart the mind of anyone who came his way, and Carrie only hoped that was a lie. Dahlia only smiled, hesitating before speaking as if planning her words. The other hadn’t wanted to be overwhelming, but their awkward first meeting had thrown a curveball into the typical conversational process.

“Dahlia. You’re sure you’ll be alright?”

Carrie’d chosen to simply nod, the performer’s name ringing in their ears for a moment longer. So that was why their father had given them the flower… though she didn’t think of it as a simply nice gesture in the first place, it would’ve been better for her to be told directly.

“Of course. I’m more used to falling over than your usual person, if anything needs to be said. Do you know why the Big Top is so crowded?”

There was another pause, during which Dahlia’s eyes swept across the girl in front of them and fully took in who she was seeing. She’d not been informed that the Ringmaster of the troupe had any family, but was able to tell there was something odd going on with her. Someone with so many careless injuries didn’t meet the expectations she’d seen from the imposing man, so the only avenue she could reason with was that Carrie had obtained some sort of special permission to be there. It was obvious from their earlier words they were part of the performing members, after all, and not just any member of the crowd.

This didn’t culminate in any judgement - just simple curiosity, the likes of which made their eyes light up as she responded.

“The Ringmaster told me, yesterday upon my arrival on the grounds, that there was going to be a sort of introductory gathering in the Big Top some time the next morning. No other details, as you might guess, but I can’t say I’m surprised that he would want to make a spectacle out of everything possible. As much as I can’t say it within earshot, he seems terribly self-absorbed.”

There was laughter in Dahlia’s words, posing a comfort to Carrie although she didn’t have the courage to mention it. Some of the tension that’d been in her shoulders from the fall (and meeting a stranger in such an embarrassing state) melted away as she took a moment to talk and gain her bearings. Luckily, none of the juggling balls had strayed too far, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to risk using them again.

“He hasn’t shown himself in the Big Top yet, as far as I can tell, so I was going to check if one of the practice tents were set up and keep myself occupied. I’m sure you have your own things to do, Carrie, so I’ll-”

I’ll leave you to it.

The knife-thrower’s words were interrupted by the sound of an exclamation, then a loud and very familiar voice swearing. This made Carrie’s attention pull away from Dahlia, if momentarily, and she frowned deeply.

“On the other hand, I might accompany you. Nothing good can come from someone that raucous.”

Dahlia noted, more than willing to follow her new acquaintance if it meant getting to the source of the fun. She matched Carrie’s pace as they begun to run toward the prop tent, appearing to seek out who exactly had sworn. 

The performer’s eyes were wide, panicked, footfalls heavy against the uneven grass where the tents were pitched. There was no time. She needed to find Kaz before they got hurt, and she had a feeling they already would be. But the tent was silent. Too silent. She glanced back to the knife-thrower, instinctively grabbing their hand for support, one gloved finger coming up to make a shushing motion against her own lips. She couldn’t risk their being found, but she knew better than to take a single step further into the entrance of the tent. It was something of a protective instinct, stemming from all the times she’d been in front of her father’s wrath. 

Evidently, Homura’s plans had changed and he saw no need to notify anyone of the shift. What he said went, and the same rung true if he never talked at all. All the world was his stage, and his alone. He had one hand clamped over his eye, tight enough so that none of the storage tent’s dim illumination was reaching through it. Though Kaz stood back from the Ringmaster, Homura's commanding presence seemed to darken the whole room. On his face there usually sat a large medical eyepatch, strings fraying but otherwise well-kept. This was the only exception to formality he’d ever make in appearance, preferring the large patch over something more stereotypical and pirate-like. It did nothing to lessen how intimidating he was.

Carrie, meanwhile, had wrestled her attention away from the admittedly disturbing scene enough to debate asking Dahlia for a favour. Though it was far too soon for her to be in debt to a fellow performer - someone she couldn’t really escape from - she saw no other option. Maybe, if they could create a diversion, she could free Kaz from whatever conflict they’d unwillingly stepped into. Maybe it would just be safer for her to back out and away, running before the altercation even concerned her. She’d be branded a fool to desert the two, even if it were the better personal choice. She was making the situation much bigger in her head than it had any right to be, yet it was driven by the need to protect someone dear to her.

So she turned to Dahlia, voice little more than a harsh whisper, before loosening her hold. She didn’t want to let go just yet, however, breathing becoming ragged and nervous. They were aiming to be a comfort to the knife-thrower, yes, but to glean comfort in return as well. She took one more step past the doorway, leaving Dahlia standing behind as if guarding her. But there wasn’t time.

Before Carrie could act, there was a flash. Bright. Blinding.

Yes, Rosario, blinding.

The movements of the once-fluid aerialist became staggered. Stiff, inorganic and conveying none of their usual personality. Not suspended, as any dancer would be through the air, but frozen. Trapped.

This sight was something familiar to Carrie, and the young woman’s breath caught in her throat. Why? Why would her father risk it? For something so petty, so inconsequential, he’d become unforgivable. It was not the first time that he’d used his hypnotism in such a way, leaving performers vulnerable and empty-minded, but the fear never ceased to grip his daughter every time she saw it. Her hands became clammy with sweat as she stood numbly, eyes darting around to find any reason for the outburst. And it was there, simply, lying on the floor.

Kazuki had made a fatal mistake.

He wasn’t dead, but might as well have been. The medical patch that the Ringmaster wore had fallen during the two's scuffle earlier, which Carrie hadn’t been around to witness, and she guessed that Kaz had taken it off or caused the bands to somehow snap. She held faith in her friend that he wouldn’t have done something to spite his superior willingly, though Homura’s thinly-veiled insecurities were as fragile as the metaphorical strings now lodged in Kazuki’s shoulders. So he struck out before he thought, more often than not, and it cost him relationships forged organically.

He’d just smile and bear it. So long as people agreed with him, there was no point in having ‘companions’ for any other purpose. ‘Puppets’ were enough.

Feeling Dahlia’s grip loosen around her left hand, Carrie only held it tighter. It took her a precious few seconds more to react properly, but she attempted to pull the knife-thrower away from the prop tent’s opening. They were transfixed, smile left upon their lips, and so she tried again - an anxious tug from the wrist, expression warping into worry as they resisted without response. Even this refused to work, but if there was one thing Homura agreed upon it was that his daughter was stubborn. So he watched her tap the performer’s shoulders, urgency surely almost leaving bruises, but it was all futile. She held tighter to their hand, hoping the warmth would do something. Anything. 

Focus had shifted, and he was simply waiting for her to realise.

The Big Top had fallen silent.

Heads began to crane in the other direction. A million eyes, crowd and performer alike, all glaring straight toward Carrie. She couldn’t see the majority of their faces, but the ones she did know were making her nervous. Even Dahlia’s ice-blue gaze was harder than before. Vacant and unyielding to the effort she’d put into trying to save them. Just how much time Homura had spent under the guise of preparation accomplishing something so terrifying was beyond her, but she could barely think. Twisting her wrist to break her hold on Dahlia, she winced as a crack rung out. Though she hoped nothing was broken, the all-consuming stiffness in the knife-thrower’s body wasn’t natural.

Homura watched this all transpire with a sly smile, knowing well that the stage would be his once more. He bent over at the waist and swiped the medical patch off the floor, deftly tying it to his face and sighing in relief. The darkness comforted him, even if it made his depth perception a lot worse. Craning his neck to look at the motionless aerialist, the soft expression he wore hardened into something more menacing. Sure, he was smiling, but he may as well have had shark teeth. There was nothing genuine about the expression. Kazuki remained still, the only indication of their being awake lying in the steady rise and fall of their chest.

With a wave of Homura’s hand, a nonchalant forward motion, Kazuki fell into step behind the hypnotist. The two left the prop tent, with the smaller swamped in his superior’s shadow. As the man approached his daughter, the greeting was interrupted by Dahlia’s own movement. This too was stilted, nearly stumbling forward, but the ground was smooth enough so that she didn’t fall. Before joining Kaz behind their Ringmaster, she shot Carrie a smile. It was no comfort to the girl, suspended in disbelief and fear as she was. The blades were dull compared to the intimidation hidden in their expression. Still, they took two knives out of their belt and twirled them around in gloved fingers, carelessness shown like they were no more than toys.

But Dahlia and Homura both knew the damage they could do.

“Well… look what a predicament we’re in, Carrie.”

Homura taunted his daughter openly, spreading his arms wide to frame the emerging crowds that had gathered behind him. His tone was soft and alluring to any other, but she knew what it hid. Venom, spat, and harshness beyond measure. It’d hurt his public image, yes, but he’d never been so kind behind the curtains drawn. Control was the only thing he desired. She was his child above anything else, and held that position of influence regardless of any petty trickery.

“Will you join the show?”

In reality, Carrie knew she had no choice. The crowds loomed forward behind her, closing in and pushing her further toward the Ringmaster. A mass of bodies, unidentifiable but brought together by a singular goal.

One mind.

The girl couldn’t muster the courage to respond, even though keeping silent often did more harm than good around him. Instead, she tried to reach out toward where she thought her companions were waiting, however hard it became to see individuals in the swarm of crowd and performer alike. When Homura raised an eyebrow in silent judgement of this action, she faltered, cringing habitually away from the criticism and withdrawing her reach. He took a singular step further toward his daughter, breaking the line of tension between them.

It was in this moment of fearful instinct and clarity that her resolve gave out, and she turned tail. Running through the oppressive crush of bodies, there was nothing she could think about other than finding relief from the hammering in her chest. Usually, Carrie would’ve been able to talk to him at the very least, but she was one performer against the whole circus. The fact that their blank stares were all seeming to judge her was bad enough, and that was something she was sure he knew well. She raised her left arm to shield her eyes from the lashing arms all fighting to grab her, caring little for the injuries that she’d have to deal with later. There wouldn’t be a later if her father got his way.

The crowd never stopped their pursuit, but the only other way to make them stop was to face their Ringmaster. 

She wasn’t about to do that.

Two sets of hands grabbed at her shoulders as she ran toward her tent, one’s scarring familiar and one cloaked in gloves. They didn’t even try to pull her back, even as her pounding steps reached the border of her tent. Twisting to release the harsh grips, she staggered into her room and slid the door closed behind her, falling finally onto the floor and heaving in a choking sob. For a second or two, she debated locking the door, but the howling of noise began to fade away. Whether it was because she was falling asleep or unconscious, she couldn’t tell, but she didn’t particularly care. All that mattered was that the Ringmaster had left her alone.

She wanted badly to crawl into her bed right then and there, but with lucidity came overwhelming pain. Wearily, just as she had that morning, she thought to check the clock. 

Half-lidded and tear-filled eyes swept up towards her desk again, just in time to see the petals fall.

[hamilando]

ੈ✩ Blue or Orange ? (smau) ੈ✩

pairing : lando norris x fem reader

summary : when the shimmer athlete meets the speed athlete

tw : fluff, a little chaos, suggestive

fc: Claire Wolford *she is so pretty-*

a/n : So this was requested anonymously, so if you are seeing this, Hope you like it 💫 AND before anyone jumps on me for using Daniel, it’s just one comment and the meme was started by him !!

·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ

liked by victoriakalena, chandidayle, kelsey_w, landonorris and 87,290 others

ynwolford Thunderstrucked Vegas 💫✨

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user1 the dream life ✊🏻

user2 THUNDER!! TA DA DA THUNDER !!

victorikalena leader ay-aye 🫡

liked by ynwolford

chandidayle serving serious looks ma’am

ynwolford only for you 🫶🏻

user3 drop. the. freaking. skin. and. body. routine !!!

user4 oh to be her 😮‍💨😮‍💨

kelsey_w the look is perfect !!

liked by ynwolford

user5 I AM SEEING HER IN THE VEGAS MATCH

user6 EXCUSE ME !? - can you take me 🥺

user7 bleeding blue and white 💙🤍

user8 why is lando norris in her likes ?

user9 her boyfriend 💔 user10 WHAT-!? user10 POOKIE IS TAKEN 😭🥹 user11 who is he 😤 user12 a driver 👀 user13 * formula one driver

landonorris BEST SISTER EVER ❤️

ynwolford BEST BROTHER EVER ❤️ landonorris bro 😑 ynwolrford yo u started it landonorris you looked pretty babes 🧡❤️💙🤍 ynwolford ☺️

liked by landornorris, mclaren, chandidayle and 137,283 others

ynwolford blue and orange ? 💙🧡 @ mclaren

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mclaren the color combination for the next livery ?

ynwolford cowboy style 🤠🤍💙

landonorris maybe you could cheer for me in those shorts ? 👀

ynwolford stop it you thirsty shorty landornorris you did not - ynwolford my kicks are taller than you landonorris yet still you do the splits for me -

user1 you two, there are kids 😭

user2 where the hell did lando pop out from ?

user3 when did the couple comments become so active 😭

chandidayle Y/N, please behave, there are kids

user4 THANK YOU CHANDI

georgerussell Y/N, could you please get us passes for the match ?

ynwolford dw! Tickets for you, Oscar, Alex, Max and Charles are in my bag ✊🏻

landonorris last time I checked, I was the one who asked you out

ynwolford last time I checked, you always have no pass entry AS YOUR GIRLFRIEND is a DCC 💪🏻 landonorris oh.

user5 I missed the silent relationship comments

user6 they are entertaining tho-

liked by chandidayle, landonorris, kelsey_w and 162,319 others

ynwolford and after 4 years, the Pom-Poms take a rest 🤍💙🤍💙

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user1 WE WILL MISS YOU 😭

user2 genuinely one of the best dcc!!

kelsey_w can’t believe we were together through it all 💙

liked by ynwolford

dcccheerleaders once a DCC, always a DCC 💙🤠🤍

liked by ynwolford

landonorris I am so proud of you love 🫶🏻

ynwolford thank you 😭

user3 for once his comment was normal -

user4 no horny comments today

landonorris but I am sad I won’t see you in those shorts

user5 there we go ✊🏻

user6 the way y/n just ignored -

user7 lando and her are probably doing dirty

user8 STOP TALKING ABOUT THEIR NIGHT LIFE

user9 yes! This is a child account 😙

carlossainz55 A great end to your career 💪🏻

ynwolford unemployed besties 🫶🏻

user10 she did not -

carlossainz55 that hurt 😞

ynwolford reality hurts my dear Carlos landonorris Stop Calling Him “Dear” ynwolford Dear Carlos 🫶🏻 georgerussell hi 👋 ynwolford dear George 🫶🏻 alexalbon hi 👋 ynwolford dear Alex 🫶🏻 landonorris STOP 💔

liked by landonorris, lewishamilton, georgerussell and 128,271 others

ynwolford and after 2 years, orange is the best 🧡

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landnorris aw 🥺

landonorris cute 😤

landonorris pretty 😮‍💨

landonorris hot 🥵

landonorris mommy 😗

gerogerussell LANDO SHAVED HIS MOUSTACHE!?

ynwolford I asked him too 😌

alexalbon “ THIS MOUSTACHE IS MY BADGE OF HONOUR”

landonorris whatever the queen says 🤷🏻‍♂️

danielriccardio he doesn’t even grow pubes

ynwolford sadly, he does now 😔 landonorris HEY! cmon babe, you know you love it 👀 ynwolford the tree lando, not the jungle 🫷🏻

comments on this post have been restricted

[astonmartinii]

nonsense... or is it? | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x fem singer!reader

face claim: sabrina carpenter

based on this request: sooo, anyways,,, i was thinking maybe a smau where Charles is playing the guy who Milo was and this obviously breaks the internet even more and this leads to them dating ??? idk, just like a really wholesome one where she was his celebrity crush and now they're dating bc of them getting know each other more bc of the music video. sorry if this is all over the place but yeah. - @whoreks

MASTERLIST | BUY ME A KO-FI?

yourusername

liked by taylorswift, charles_leclerc and 1,200,441 others

yourusername: holla babes !!! the feather music video is heading your way fast xxx if only my real boyfriends were like my music videos ones ...

view all comments

user1: MOTHER

user2: finally music videos are back baby !!

taylorswift: you can still make the whole place shimmer ✨

yourusername: thanks to you baby

user3: oh to be able to call taylor swift baby

user4: y/n's shade is so underrated - i too wish her boyfriends were as good as her mv ones

user5: she's got such a good eye for casting why can't she do this in her actual love life

user6: okay but he's hot based off a single shoulder i'm excited

user7: you got that from a SHOULDER?

user8: he's TALL?

user9: babe y/n is like 4'2 she makes everyone look tall

user10: say what you want about the catholic church, they got the aesthetic down pat

yourbff1: so we aren't asking the mv boyf out? boring.

yourusername: we have lil things called phones? USE IT HOE

user11: charles leclerc in the likes

user12: so true of him

user13: unless he's... the guy

user14: babe he's way too short lol

user15: have yall seen the sky ad? baby aint acting any time soon

yourusername

liked by yourbff1, charles_leclerc and 1,763,550 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: OMG you guys blew the feather music video up !! i'm sure it had nothing to do with this random guy i found off the street? jokes, thank you charles for being the perf mv boyf xx

view all comments

user17: HOLY FUCKING SHIT

user18: celeb crush inception no one touch me

charles_leclerc: thank you for my music video debut, maybe you can return the favour one day?

yourusername: i'll return any favour you want

yourbff1: dial down the desperation babe

charles_leclerc: what if i want her to dial it up please?

yourbff1: do NOT encourage her

yourusername: please encourage me :)

user19: Y/N STAND UP PLEASE

user20: actually y/n is so real have yall seen that man YUM

liked by yourusername

user21: y/n is a genius for fancasting her future bf in her music video

danielricciardo: THIS IS HOW I FIND OUT? SHARL WHEN I CATCH YOU

pierregasly: and me :( i thought our friendship meant more ....

charles_leclerc: it was a secret

yourusername: he doesn't kiss and tell xoxo

alexalbon: WHAT ??????

charles_leclerc: okay we can stop joking now

yourusername: fine...

user22: the way charles was defo typing that through tears

user23: y/n make the move we believe in you

user24: believe in her? she can get anyone she wants he's gotta STEP UP

charles_leclerc

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 2,099,441 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: had a blast filming for my first ever music video, thank you y/n !!

view all comments

user25: i'm feeling a new unhealthy attachment forming

yourusername: feel free to come back any time soon

charles_leclerc: or maybe you can come to me?

yourusername: is this my paddock debut?

charles_leclerc: make sure you're wearing red and it sure can be

yourusername: let me check the wardrobe

user26: i will pass away if we get y/n at a race... in the ferrari garage ???

pierregasly: let it be known i am still angry that you didn't tell me, especially after all the weird rants i've listened to

alexalbon: me too

georgerussell63: me too

landonorris: me too

danielricciardo: me too

carlossainz55: me too

maxverstappen1: me too

charles_leclerc: why is max here?

maxverstappen1: that's what you're taking from this?

charles_leclerc: yeah why are you in my business

maxverstappen1: you make it my business you talk about her all the time

yourusername: oh really ???

charles_leclerc: HE'S A BIG FAT LIAR HE'S ALWAYS BEEN A BIG FAT LIAR ALL HIS LIFE INCLUDING WHEN I MAYBE ACCIDENTALLY PUSHED HIM IN A PUDDLE

maxverstappen1: YOU DID PUSH ME IN THAT PUDDLE

yourusername: what is going on here?

user27: poor y/n being thrown into the grid drama

user28: poor charles with the grid trying to expose him

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 1,334,661 others

yourusername: clearly was feeling myself this week

view all comments

user31: lol why is max here

maxverstappen1: doing my due diligence as an investigative journalist

charles_leclerc: choke.

user32: is that charles? are we in the soft launch?

user33: let's not get ahead of ourselves, we know charles doesn't dress that well

user34: consider this: girlfriend effect

user35: girlfriend effect is gonna have to do some heavy lifting when it comes to charles' wardrobe

yourbff1: you think you're so slick don't you

yourusername: maybe. maybe not?

yourbff1: you're so annoying

yourusername: annoyingly cute?

liked by charles_leclerc

yourbff1: keep your nose out of women's business leclerc

charles_leclerc: SLANDER

user36: i mean they seem to have the same sense of humour

user37: not to sound insane but they are perfect for each other and i will be passing away if they are not together

pierregasly: interesting

danielricciardo: add it to the folder

charles_leclerc: folder ???

maxverstappen1: leave us journalists be

charles_leclerc: can you even read?

yourusername: GET HER JADE

maxverstappen1: add that as well

charles_leclerc: why can't we win?

user38: what is going on in the house of commons

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, yourusername and 2,331,663 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: i don't believe in soft launches

view all comments

user39: we been knew... but OMG PARENTS

user40: i am crying they're so hot

yourusername: hawt bf obtained

charles_leclerc: sexy gf in my inventory

yourusername: you're such a cute patootie

charles_leclerc: i cannot speak my mind or instagram will censor me

yourusername: ...oop hurry up and come back :(

charles_leclerc: about to break all US speeding laws xoxo

yourusername: not you in your charli xcx era

user41: he's with her ... in the US ... could we get y/n paddock debut in vegas ???

user42: would only be right i fear

user43: the scheduling just about makes sense before she has to go back to opening for taylor in south america

user44: now why did vegas not get in their bag and get y/n to perform at the opening ceremony?

pierregasly: way to ruin the investigation

danielricciardo: yeah we were in our sherlock holmes era

maxverstappen1: have to spoil everything don't you charles 🤨

charles_leclerc: i thought you guys wanted to know who my girlfriend is?

alexalbon: yes, but we wanted to expose it :(

yourusername: CORNY

pierregasly: oh no. he has someone on his side now

yourusername: damn right frenchie. i can hear your asshole twitching from here

pierregasly: WHAT ???

charles_leclerc: idk what that means but YEAH PIERRE TAKE THAT

charles_leclerc

liked by carlossainz55, yourusername and 2,114,762 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: gutted not to be on the top step but an overall great weekend in vegas. glad to have y/n by my side this weekend before she's off again to slay the stage xx

view all comments

user48: charles unironically using the word slay, the girlfriend effect knows no bounds

user49: the sky camera zooming in on y/n watching the podium

user50: i think we watched her fall in love in real time

user51: i mean look at the material... podium charles hits so different i think I FELL IN LOVE

yourusername: you're a winner to me babe

charles_leclerc: and that's all that matters

yourusername: NOPE STAY HUNGRY GET THEM POINTS AND DESTROY THE REST OF THE FIELD

charles_leclerc: okay :)

yourusername: good boy

pierregasly: never say that in public again

maxverstappen1: is this why he's blushing so much in the press conference?

charles_leclerc: NO. NO REASON

yourusername: you sure?

charles_leclerc: i am the unluckiest driver ever and am screwed over at every turn sue me if i like a lil praise

user52: charles is so real for that i also want y/n to tell me i'm doing a good job

alexalbon: enough time has passed. @yourusername can lily get some extra tickets for the eras tour

yourusername: of course. anything for my new bestie

lilymunhe: thank youuuuuuuuuuuuuu. charles you have amazing taste

charles_leclerc: i know :)

yourusername: i mean i got you, so who's the real winner here?

yourusername

liked by taylorswift, charles_leclerc and 1,667,982 others

tagged: charles_leclerc & taylorswift

yourusername: my leg of the eras tour has come to an end :( this was such an insane opportunity, thank you so much taylor xx but this also means i can go annoy charlie until he has to go back to work !!

one last nonsense outro:

i met this lovely boy named charlie,

he races round the world for ferrari,

giving it to me everyday like ari

view all comments

user53: i think y/n might actually be winning in life

user54: is she referencing everyday by ariana grande which is literally just a song about having constant sex?

yourusername: yes and what about it? f1 drivers have great stamina

arthurleclerc: DELETE ASAP

yourusername: no can do baby leclerc

user55: fave outro for real

charles_leclerc: i am blushing !!

pierregasly: she just told millions of people all you do is fuck and now you're blushing ???

yourusername: i don't think mr doggy emoji is talking right now

charles_leclerc: at least y/n did it in an artful way

pierregasly: believe me i know YOU WON'T STOP SINGING IT DOWN THE PHONE YOU MENACE

yourusername: you sing my songs :) ?

carlossainz55: ALL THE TIME

yourusername: i don't like your tone mr 🤨

charles_leclerc: i am just showing my love :(

yourusername: @pierregasly @carlossainz55 you made him sad APOLOGIZE IMMEDIATELY

pierregasly: sorry?

carlossainz55: sorry i guess?

charles_leclerc: thank you :) i shall continue to sing to my heart's content

yourusername: good.

taylorswift: you were amazing !! i'll see you soon my love xx

yourusername: i'm hearing double date ??

taylorswift: i'm sure that can be arranged

charles_leclerc: OMG

user56: charles and travis are really the top tier himbo bfs and i love them for that

fin.

note: i really loved writing this so i hope this was everything you imagined and more!! i'm just getting into sabrina's music but i was a girl meets world stan so... i hope i did the nonsense outro justice xxx

[mikaylathenerd5]

Spice & Surrender | Roman Reigns

Summary: When hairstylist Zaria crashes in Roman Reigns’ hotel suite, craving ramen, a playful cook-off with her longtime flirt ignites years of buried tension. What starts with sizzling broth and spicy taunts boils over into a kitchen counter conquest—Roman’s got a hunger no noodle can satisfy, and Zaria’s defiance is no match for his relentless heat. High stakes, filthy dares, and a mess neither saw coming.

Content Warning: This one-shot contains explicit adult content intended for readers 18+ only. Includes: strong language, graphic sexual scenes (oral sex, penetrative sex, face-fucking), food play (non-insertion), light dominance and submission themes (wrist-pinning, possessive behavior), messy bodily fluids (cum play), and mild overstimulation. Reader discretion is advised—proceed if you’re ready for a spicy, unapologetic ride!

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: Been working on this for a couple of days while on my lunch breaks 🖤 Hope you enjoy! Like, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated ✨

Zaria flopped onto the leather couch in Roman Reigns’ hotel suite, her straight, glossy black hair spilling over the cushions like ink as she kicked off her scuffed white sneakers. The night had been relentless—hours sculpting WWE superstars’ hair into ring-ready perfection, her nimble fingers commanding shears and gel like a pro. Roman was her constant, though—since her first gig with the crew in his Shield days, she’d been the one taming his thick, dark mane backstage. Their history was a slow simmer of sharp jabs, lingering stares, and that one reckless, tequila-soaked kiss in Tampa two summers ago they’d buried under layers of denial. Every snip of her scissors since had felt like foreplay, every brush of her fingers against his scalp a dare neither would name. Now, in March 2025, crashing in his suite after a show was their unspoken norm, the air thick with what they wouldn’t say—but tonight, Zaria felt it heavier, a coil tightening in her gut she couldn’t ignore.

The TV droned with a late-night talk show, the host’s voice a dull hum as Zaria groaned, pressing a hand to her growling stomach. “God, I’m starving. I’d kill for some ramen right now.”

Roman, sprawled beside her in a tight short-sleeve black shirt that hugged his sculpted biceps, flashed that slow, dangerous smirk that always hit her like a freight train. “Ramen, huh? You’re in luck, Z—I can make that happen.” He grabbed his phone, thumbs tapping fast as he texted his personal assistant. “Fresh shit, none of that instant garbage. Bet I can cook it better than you, though.” His deep voice rolled over her like a challenge, those dark brown eyes glinting under the suite’s soft glow, and for a second, she swore she saw his cool facade flicker—something hungry breaking through.

She sat up, tossing her hair over her shoulder, the strands shimmering in the lamplight. “Oh, you’re on, Reigns. Cook-off, right now—loser owes a dare. And I’m not talking some weak-ass ‘sing karaoke’ bullshit. Winner picks something real.” Her pulse kicked up as she said it, wondering how far he’d push her if she lost—or how far she’d push him.

“Big talk for a little thing,” he shot back, smirking wider as he stood, towering over her, his broad frame casting a shadow that made her stomach flip. “Better bring your A-game, Zaria, ‘cause if I win, you’re mine for the whole damn night—whatever I say, you do.” His voice dipped, dark and deliberate, and her breath caught, the stakes sinking in.

“Fine,” she said, chin high, hiding the shiver racing down her spine. “And if I win, you’re my personal bitch ‘til sunrise—fetching, carrying, whatever I damn well please. Deal?” Inside, her mind raced—He’s bluffing, right? Or is he finally calling my bluff from Tampa?

“Deal,” he growled, eyes locked on hers, and the air shifted, electric and heavy.

Thirty minutes later, the assistant had delivered—fresh ramen noodles, crisp green onions, a jar of dark soy sauce, a tin of fiery chili paste, and two gleaming stainless-steel pots, all dumped on the counter with a discreet nod before vanishing. Now, they stood hip-to-hip in the suite’s sleek kitchenette, the air thick with sizzling aromas and a tension that’d been brewing since that unmentioned kiss. Roman’s six-foot-three frame loomed beside her, his broad shoulders brushing hers as he chopped onions with a gleaming chef’s knife, the black ink of his tribal tattoos flexing across his forearms, the short sleeves stretched taut over his muscles. Zaria stirred her pot, swirling in chili paste with a defiant flick of her wrist, her straight hair swaying as she leaned over the bubbling broth, steam curling around her face. Her broth glowed a fiery red, while Roman’s simmered a deep, golden-brown, rich and controlled—just like him, though she caught his hand twitch slightly, a crack in his usual steel.

“Yours smells like a damn biohazard,” he teased, leaning over her pot, his chest grazing her shoulder, the heat of him seeping through her thin crop top. “You tryna poison me, Z, or just scare me off?” His voice was playful, but his breath hitched as he lingered, and she smirked inside—He’s slipping already.

“And yours looks like it’s too chickenshit to fight back,” she fired back, stirring with a sassy twist of her hips, her denim shorts riding up slightly. “What’s the matter, Reigns—afraid of a little fire, or just afraid I’ll burn you down?”

He chuckled, that low, rumbling sound sinking into her bones, and nudged her with his hip, nearly knocking her into the counter’s edge. “Oh, I can handle fire, baby girl—been burnin’ for you too long to back off now. Question is, can you take the heat when I turn it up?” His eyes flicked to hers, dark and unguarded for a split second, and her heart thudded—He’s not just playing anymore.

The chaos erupted—Zaria flicked a dollop of chili paste at him, splattering his cheek; he splashed warm broth onto her bare arm with a grin. “You little shit,” she laughed, swiping a streak of soy sauce across his jaw, the dark liquid glistening against his tanned skin, and he caught her wrist mid-move, spinning her so her back slammed against the cool granite counter. “You’re testin’ me, Zaria,” he growled, caging her in with his arms, his dark eyes blazing with years of pent-up heat, pupils blown wide under the kitchen’s dim recessed lights. “You know I can’t let that slide.”

“Me?” she breathed, her pulse hammering as she tilted her head, straight hair sliding against her neck, brushing her shoulders. “You’ve been begging for this since Tampa, Reigns. Don’t pretend that kiss didn’t keep you up nights.” Her mind screamed—Why’d I say that? Oh God, he’s gonna snap.

His smirk was pure fire, lips curling as he leaned in, his full mouth brushing hers, soft then firm. “Didn’t forget a damn thing, Z—been replayin’ that night in my head, wonderin’ when you’d finally give me an excuse to finish it.” His voice dropped, husky and raw, restraint cracking as his hands tightened on her hips. “Now let’s settle it, baby girl—right fuckin’ now.”

The kiss exploded—hot, messy, tasting of salty soy and the sharp chili lingering on her fingers, reigniting Tampa in vivid, sweaty detail. Roman pressed himself closer, his hard chest flush against her softer curves, hands gripping her hips, thick fingers sinking into the flesh above her shorts as she melted into him, years of tension snapping like a frayed rope. “You taste too fuckin’ good,” he muttered against her lips, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers with a slow, masterful tease—wet, deliberate, curling in a way that sent a shiver racing down her spine, her knees buckling slightly. She tugged at his shirt, nails scraping his pecs through the fabric, and he growled, “Keep that up, Z, and I’m losin’ it—you’re pushin’ me too damn far.”

“Then lose it,” she challenged, voice breathy, nipping his bottom lip, her mind a blur of He’s breaking, I’ve got him. “I dare you, Roman—show me you’re not all talk.” The pots bubbled behind them, steam swirling up, but the heat between them was a roaring furnace, sweat already beading at her hairline.

He pulled back, snagging a single, glossy noodle from her pot with his fingers, holding it up between them, the strand dangling slick and steaming. “Taste test,” he rasped, voice thick with intent, his breath hot against her cheek. “Open that pretty mouth for me—let’s see if you can handle this first.” She parted her lips, letting him slip the warm, slippery noodle inside, the spicy burst blooming across her tongue as he watched, unblinking, his gaze locked on her lips, her throat, the way her eyes fluttered half-shut. “Good?” he asked, but he didn’t wait—his mouth crashed back onto hers, chasing the flavor. “Fuck, you make it better—too damn good,” he growled, licking into her with a hunger that made her core clench, his teeth grazing her bottom lip as he sucked it lightly, drawing a soft whimper from her.

“Roman,” she gasped, and he smirked against her mouth. “Say my name again, Z—I fuckin’ live for that sound.” His hands slid under her crop top, rough palms gliding up her sides, calluses brushing her smooth, warm skin, thumbs tracing the curve of her ribs as she arched into him, her back bowing off the counter. “You’re so damn soft—been wantin’ to touch you like this forever,” he muttered, voice low and reverent, lifting her onto the counter with one effortless hoist, the muscles in his arms bunching under his ink as her thighs parted, denim shorts riding up. He stepped between them, hips pressing flush against hers, the hard line of him grinding through his pants. “Feel what you do to me, Z?” he growled, rocking slightly so she could feel every thick inch. “This is all you—been hard for you since you walked in.”

“Fuck, Zaria,” he muttered, yanking his shirt off in one fluid motion to reveal that sculpted, inked torso—broad pecs, tight abs, the tribal lines snaking over his shoulder and down his arm, glistening faintly with sweat under the kitchen’s warm light. She reached for him, fingertips tracing the sharp edges of his tattoos, but he caught her wrists, pinning them to the counter with one massive hand. “Not yet,” he said, his free hand sliding up her thigh, squeezing the soft flesh. “I’ve waited too damn long for this—been dreamin’ about you wrigglin’ under me, losin’ that attitude. I’m takin’ my time, Z—gonna make you beg ‘til your voice breaks.”

“Big talk for a man who’s already shakin’,” she shot back, voice shaky but defiant, squirming under his grip, catching the faint tremor in his hand. He’s close to cracking—God, I want him to. “Prove it, Reigns—make me.”

“Oh, I will, baby,” he promised, dark eyes flashing as he grabbed a spoonful of his broth, the rich, golden liquid steaming as he held it up, blowing on it slow and deliberate, his full lips pursing in a way that made her hips shift on the counter. “Open for me,” he commanded, voice a low rumble, and she obeyed, parting her lips as he tipped the spoon, the savory warmth sliding down her throat, coating her tongue with umami depth. A drop escaped, trailing down her chin, dripping onto her chest, and he darted forward, licking it off with a lazy, lingering swipe—starting at the hollow of her throat, dragging his tongue up her jaw, then sucking lightly at the spot just below her ear. “Taste better on you—fuck, I could drown in this,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin, sending goosebumps racing down her arms. “Gonna mark you up, Z—every inch.”

“Roman—fuck,” she whined, and he chuckled, dark and low. “That’s it, Z—keep sayin’ my name like a prayer.” His mouth moved lower, kissing the curve of her neck, teeth grazing her pulse point as his hands shoved her crop top up to bunch above her breasts. “Let’s get this off you—need to see all of you,” he muttered, tugging it over her head and tossing it to the floor, revealing her lacy black bra, the fabric straining over her curves. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he growled, unhooking it with one deft flick, letting it fall away. Her breasts spilled free, nipples tightening in the cool air, and he groaned, dipping his head to kiss the swell of her chest. “Been thinkin’ about these every damn night,” he said, his tongue flicking out to trace slow, wet circles around one peak, then the other, until they hardened under his touch.

“Goddamn, Roman,” she moaned, arching into him, and he sucked harder, his teeth grazing just enough to sting before soothing with his tongue. “You like that, huh? Knew you would,” he teased, his free hand palming her other breast, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger with a precision that made her thighs clench around his hips. “Gonna make you scream it ‘til the neighbors complain, Z.” She tugged at his hair, pulling lightly, and he growled, “Keep pullin’—you’re lightin’ a fuse, baby, and I’m gonna blow.”

He pulled back, grabbing another noodle from her pot, slick with chili oil, holding it up to her lips. “More—open up, baby,” he said, voice rough. “Let me feed you ‘til you’re mine.” She did, letting him slip it in, the heat bursting on her tongue as he watched, his thumb brushing her bottom lip after, smearing the oil slightly. “Messy girl—look at you, all fucked up already,” he murmured, leaning in to lick it off, his tongue slow and deliberate, then kissed her again—deep, hungry, his hands sliding down her sides. “Need these off now—can’t wait anymore,” he growled, hooking his fingers into her denim shorts, tugging them down with a slow, torturous drag, the fabric scraping her thighs as he peeled them off, leaving her in black lace panties that clung to her damp skin.

“Look at you, Z,” he said, stepping back, eyes raking over her—her long legs spread wide on the counter, the curve of her hips, the way her straight hair stuck to her sweaty neck. “Spread out like a goddamn gift—been waitin’ for me to unwrap you, haven’t you?”

“Maybe,” she panted, smirking despite the heat pooling low, her mind spinning—He’s too good at this, I’m fucked. “You gonna keep yapping or make good on all that noise?”

“Oh, I’m makin’ good, baby—watch me,” he shot back, kneeling between her thighs, his broad shoulders flexing as he pushed her knees wider, the counter cold against her bare ass. “Gonna make you shake ‘til you can’t stand it.” He kissed her inner thigh, slow and deliberate, his beard scraping her sensitive skin, leaving a faint burn as he worked his way up—nipping at the soft flesh, then soothing with his tongue. “So fuckin’ soft—could stay here all night,” he muttered, his breath hot and teasing as he inched closer. He hooked a finger under her panties, tugging them aside. “Look at this pretty pussy—drippin’ for me already,” he growled, blowing a cool breath against her slick heat, making her hips buck. “You’re soaked, Z—been wantin’ this as bad as I have, huh?”

“Roman—please,” she whined, and he smirked up at her. “Love hearin’ you beg—say it again.” “Please,” she repeated, desperate, and he grinned. “That’s my girl.” He licked—slow, thorough, his tongue dragging over her with a skill that had her head tipping back, a loud moan bouncing off the walls. “Taste so fuckin’ good—better than any damn ramen,” he groaned, flattening his tongue to lap at her fully, then flicking her clit with tight, teasing circles. “Been dreamin’ about this since Tampa—should’ve had you then,” he muttered, sucking her clit between his lips with just the right pressure, making her thighs tremble. His hands slid up, one gripping her hip to hold her still, the other slipping under her ass, lifting her slightly so he could bury his face deeper, his nose brushing her as he hummed. “You like that, Z? Like me eatin’ you out ‘til you can’t think?”

“Yes—fuck, yes,” she gasped, rocking against his mouth, and he chuckled, the vibration sending a jolt through her. “Good girl—ride my face, let me have it,” he growled, sucking harder, his tongue dipping inside her before swirling back up, pushing her closer to the edge. “Gonna come for me already, huh? I can feel it.”

“Not yet,” she panted, defiant, clinging to control, and he pulled back, lips shiny with her, beard glistening. “Oh, you will—gonna break you down, Z,” he promised, standing and tugging her off the counter. “On your knees—now. Time to taste me.” She dropped, her straight hair brushing her shoulders as she looked up at him, heat roaring in her belly.

He shoved his pants down, and her breath caught—Roman was huge, bigger than average, thick and long, veins pulsing as he gripped himself, stroking once with a slow, confident pull, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. “Open up, baby—show me that mouth’s good for more than sass,” he murmured, stepping closer. She wrapped her lips around him, taking him slow, the salty taste bursting on her tongue as she savored his weight. “Fuck, that’s it—knew you’d be perfect,” he rasped, one hand tangling in her hair as she sucked the head, swirling her tongue around the ridge, then took him deeper, her cheeks hollowing. “Look at you, takin’ me so good—fuckin’ made for this,” he groaned, his hips twitching as she moaned around him, the vibration making his thighs flex.

“Deeper, Z—know you can take it all,” he growled, gripping her hair tighter, thrusting into her mouth with a slow, deliberate pace that turned rougher, fucking her face like he’d been fantasizing about it for years. His cock hit the back of her throat, thick and unyielding, and she gagged, eyes watering, but kept her gaze locked on his—his dark eyes hooded, lips parted, a flush creeping up his neck. “So fuckin’ good for me—look at those eyes, beggin’ me,” he growled, pulling out just as she choked, a slick string of spit connecting her swollen lips to his tip. “Get up here—gonna finish this right,” he said, hauling her up, her knees wobbly as he spun her back to the counter.

He yanked her panties down fully, the lace pooling at her ankles as he lifted her again, perching her on the edge, thighs spread wide, her slick heat glistening under the lights. “Gonna ruin you now—been holdin’ back too long,” he promised, gripping himself to tease her, sliding his thick tip against her—up and down, slow and deliberate, coating himself in her wetness. “You want this, Z? Tell me—loud.”

“Yes—fuck, Roman, please,” she begged, voice hoarse, and he smirked, dark and triumphant. “That’s my girl—knew you’d break for me.” He thrust in, slow at first, stretching her with a delicious burn that made her cry out, her head tipping back, straight hair sticking to her sweaty neck. “Fuck, you’re tight—grippin’ me like a vice,” he groaned, pausing to let her adjust, his hands gripping her thighs, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he spread her wider. “Look at that—takin’ me so perfect, like you were built for this,” he muttered, watching himself sink into her, his abs flexing, sweat beading on his brow.

“Move, Roman—give it to me,” she demanded, breathless, her mind a haze of He’s too much, I’m done for. He chuckled, low and dark. “Bossy as hell—love that shit.” He started slow—controlled thrusts that hit deep, his hips rolling with a rhythm that was pure artistry, the muscles in his thighs and ass flexing under his tanned skin as he dragged himself out, then pushed back in, every inch deliberate. “Feel that, Z? That’s me ownin’ you,” he growled, angling himself to hit that spot inside her that made her scream, her voice raw and desperate. “All mine now.”

“Harder—c’mon, Reigns,” she gasped, and he grinned, wicked and wild. “You asked for it—hold on tight.” He thrust harder, deeper, his size stretching her to the limit, the wet slap of their bodies loud as the counter shook, broth spilling over the pot edges, noodles scattering across the granite. “Fuck, you’re so wet—drippin’ for me,” he groaned, one hand sliding to her lower back, tilting her pelvis just right. “Gonna make you feel this ‘til you can’t walk, Zaria.”

He shifted her legs, hooking them over his shoulders, her calves brushing his traps, and the new angle let him go impossibly deep—his cock plunging into her, the head brushing her cervix with a pressure that made her whimper, his balls slapping against her ass. “That’s it—scream for me,” he growled, his free hand slipping between them, fingers finding her clit, rubbing tight, expert circles. “Come on, Z—let the whole damn hotel know who’s fuckin’ you.”

“Roman—fuck, don’t stop,” she moaned, clawing at his shoulders, nails leaving red crescent marks as he pounded into her, sweat gleaming on his inked skin, the tribal lines shifting with every flex. “Right there—God, yes!”

“Love hearin’ you lose it—sounds like fuckin’ music,” he rasped, kissing her sloppy and desperate, teeth clashing, his tongue mimicking his thrusts as he drove her higher. “You’re mine tonight, Z—say it, loud.”

“Yours—fuck, yours,” she panted, and he growled, triumphant, slowing to tease her with long, deep strokes, then speeding up, hammering into her with a force that shook her core. “Gonna come for me, baby? Let me feel it,” he murmured, his fingers circling faster, relentless. “Do it—now, Zaria.” She shattered, clenching tight around him, her scream echoing as waves of ecstasy crashed through her, her vision blurring, her body trembling uncontrollably, slick heat gushing around him, soaking his cock and thighs. “Fuck, that’s it—give me all of it,” he groaned, slowing to let her ride it out, then picking up again, chasing his own edge.

“Roman—too much,” she whimpered, still trembling, and he smirked, voice rough. “Nah, you can take it—know you’re my tough girl.” His rhythm faltered, a rough “Zaria, shit—here it comes” spilling from his lips as he thrust deep one last time—his hips slamming into hers, spilling into her with a hot, thick flood, his groan primal as he gripped her thighs, sweat dripping from his brow onto her chest. His cock pulsed inside her, unloading more with every shudder, mixing with her own release until she felt it—warm, wet, trickling out around him, down her thighs, pooling on the counter beneath her ass in a sticky, glistening mess.

They stayed locked like that, panting, tangled in sweat and chaos, her straight hair plastered to her neck, his broad chest heaving as he caught his breath. Roman pulled out slowly, a low groan rumbling in his throat as he watched their combined mess spill out—thick, creamy strands of his cum mixed with her slick, glistening on her inner thighs, dripping onto the counter in a filthy puddle that streaked the granite with white and clear, mingling with spilled broth and scattered noodles. “Look at this fuckin’ mess we made—holy shit, Z,” he said, voice low and smug, his dark eyes glinting as he took it in, the kitchen a warzone of sex and cooking gone wrong. “That’s us—messy as hell and fuckin’ perfect.”

“Jesus, Roman—you’re an animal,” Zaria muttered, still dazed, her voice hoarse as she followed his gaze, her thighs trembling from the stretch and the intensity, her mind reeling—We really did that, and I’m still shaking. The sight was obscene—her legs splayed wide, their cum smeared across her skin, pooling beneath her, the air heavy with the musky scent of sex, soy, and chili.

“Not done yet,” he growled, smirking as he scooped some of their mixed release with two thick fingers—his cum still warm, her slick glistening on his skin—and pushed it back into her, slow and deliberate. She gasped, a sharp “Fuck, Roman!” slipping from her lips as he thrust his fingers deep, curling them inside her, his knuckles brushing her oversensitive walls, the wet squelch loud and lewd. “Gonna keep it all in there, Z—where it belongs,” he murmured, voice dark and possessive, his thumb brushing her clit lightly as he worked it back in, more dripping out even as he tried. “You’re mine, baby—this stays with you ‘til I say otherwise.”

“Roman—shit, you’re nasty,” she whimpered, her hips bucking involuntarily, still raw from her orgasm, and he chuckled, leaning in to kiss her temple, his lips lingering as he slid his fingers out, leaving her full and dripping again. “And you love it—don’t lie to me, Z,” he teased, licking his fingers clean with a slow swipe of his tongue, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Guess we’re ordering takeout,” she mumbled, throat raw from screaming, her body buzzing as she slumped against him, the counter sticky beneath her, her mind still spinning—He won, didn’t he? Whole damn night’s his now.

He laughed, deep and satisfied, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. “Worth it—every fuckin’ second,” he said, that smug, victorious grin spreading wide. “Told you I’m the best, Z—kitchen, bed, all of it. You still doubtin’ me, or you ready to admit I own you tonight?”

“Shut up—you’re insufferable,” she muttered, smirking weakly despite the exhaustion, and he grinned wider, triumphant. “That’s what I thought—my girl knows who’s boss. Now, what’s my first order, huh? You’re on the clock.”

She groaned, laughing despite herself, the dare settling in as reality hit—He’s not letting this go, and I’m screwed. “You’re lucky I’m too wrecked to fight back,” she said, and he winked, already reaching for his phone. “Good—means I did my job right.”

Loved Roman and Zaria getting messy? There’s more heat where that came from—dive into my masterlist for "Open Arms" (a slow-burn that’ll melt you) and "Everything I Wanted" (angst and smut collide). Click below to feast on the full spread! Want in on future one-shots and stories? Drop a comment to join the tag crew—let’s keep the spice flowing!

I want to make a big shoutout to the wonderful and amazing people on my taglist from "Open Arms" and "Everything I Wanted" for support—your support keeps me writing. Thank you loves for being the ultimate MVPs ❤️✨ - @trippinsorrows @melalsworld @jaded-human @beccalynns-world @cry1nwhileimcumm1n

@pittieprincess22 @zoeroxiie @duhitzkay380 @keyera-jackson @li-da-savage

@sharmelasworld @trentybenty @lov3rla03 @transparentphantomface @skyesthebomb

@heerah34 @pittieprincess22 @isabella-2025 @justazzi @fairy-cores-world

@ashykneee @scarlettnoir01

I hope I am not forgetting anyone to thank, as you guys don't know how much it means to have your support 🥹❤️

[slu7formen]

Hellooo helloo, I love all your Luke stories so muchh!!

Could I have a request for Luke x Poseidon’s daughter reader something about her joining him even betraying her brother Percy because love prevails all so like their love is the most powerful thing of all.. hope that makes sense in a way hahaha okay thank youuu 😙💗💕✨

thank you so much for reading my stories, I’m so glad you like them ☺️

luke castellan x fem!reader

warnings: betrayal, reader’s kinda blinded by love but also kinda cute, little fluff at the end

reminder: english’s not my first language so I apologize for any spelling mistakes

₊˚⊹♡

Thirteen wasn't exactly the age you pictured discovering you were a demigod. Apparently, you had blissfully –or maybe obliviously— muddled through your first thirteen years completely oblivious to the mythological world that simmered just beneath your feet.

Your life had been a quiet one. Growing up in a sleepy seaside town, the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore was the soundtrack to your existence. You felt a weird connection to the water, an inexplicable pull towards the ocean whenever you stood on the beach. But you attributed that to nothing more than a love for swimming and a healthy dose of wanderlust, you thought.

Then came the satyr. Grover Underwood, a nervous wreck of a creature with a perpetually startled expression. You don´t remember much about your life back then, just the way he stammered through an explanation about Greek myths being real, your parentage being linked to a god, and the pressing need for you to get to a safe haven called Camp Half-Blood.

And now here you were. Years went by, living at Camp Half-Blood, and being the only child of Poseidon.

Camp was always bustled with activity. Laughter echoed across the training fields, campers sparred with celestial bronze swords. Yet, amidst the chaos, a subtle sense of loneliness lingered around you. You weren't friendless, not by any stretch of the imagination. You had a close circle of friends, but there was a specific kind of lonely feeling that came with being the only child of Poseidon at camp, a forbidden child.

The other cabins, they all teemed with siblings. —mostly—. Shared history, inside jokes, and the comfort of knowing someone else understood exactly what it meant to have the same god for a parent – these were things you craved. There was a gap, a yearning for a familial connection that none of your friends could fully fill.

Then came Percy.

His arrival at camp was nothing short of spectacular. A blue-eyed twelve-year-old with a knack for attracting trouble. During a particularly intense Capture the Flag game, Annabeth, a sharp-tongued daughter of Athena with a strategic mind, shoved Percy into the lake. The air crackled with gasps and surprises as a shimmering green trident materialized above Percy´s head, claiming him for Poseidon.

The revelation sent a jolt through you. You, the solitary child of the sea god, suddenly had a sibling. Percy looked up at you with wide, startled eyes, a mixture of awe and apprehension playing on his face. It was like looking into a mirror reflecting a younger version of yourself, the same confusion etched on his features.

Percy looked up to you with a hero-worship that both amused and touched you. He saw in you a reflection of his own mother, Sally Jackson, with her kindness and unwavering belief in the good in others. You became his confidante, his guide through the intricate social landscape of Camp Half-Blood.

But you weren't the only one who welcomed Percy. Luke, your closest friend at camp, was equally happy for your newfound family, —or so he faked it very well. Percy quickly found himself asking you both all the questions he had and spending all his training session´s with Luke.

You and Luke were a natural fit. Both of you skilled warriors, blessed with the agility of Hermes and the raw power of the sea. You sparred together often, your movements a dance of attack and parry, a language only the two of you seemed to understand. Your laughter echoed through the camp, and more than once, you caught Percy or other campers shooting you hesitant glances, not really knowing what your relationship was about, a thin line between friends love and-, other type of love, drawn in between.

And yes, Luke loved you, and you loved him. So much, that´d you´d be able to do anything for each other. Little did Percy know.

The metallic clang of your celestial bronze sword echoed through the silent woods, a jarring counterpoint to the chirping of nocturnal crickets. Percy, his breath ragged and sweat stinging his eyes, pushed back against Luke's relentless assault. Betrayal gnawed at his gut, a viper coiling tighter with every parry and thrust.

Luke, his once friendly face twisted with a manic fervor, pressed the attack. Every word that left his lips was a fresh wound: about the Olympians' manipulation, about the power promised by Kronos, about how this wasn't meant to betray him, or anyone.

Suddenly, the clang of steel meeting steel ceased. Percy stumbled back, his heart hammering in his chest, as Luke lowered his sword. A flicker of hope, fragile and fleeting, ignited within him.

"Percy," Luke said, his voice quieter now, a hint of desperation creeping in. "This is not what you want, trust me. Last chance."

Percy stared at him, the hope dying as quickly as it had flickered. How could Luke even suggest such a thing, joining him? Didn't he understand the consequences?

Before he could retort, a new figure emerged from the shadows of the trees behind Luke. His breath caught in his throat, eyes twitching as he tried his best to focus on the figure coming from the forest. You.

A flicker of relief washed over Percy as he saw you emerge from the shadows. "yn” he called out, hope blossoming in his chest.

You stepped into the scene, moonlight casting an ethereal glow on your features. But something was off. You weren't rushing to his side, face etched with concern as it usually was. Instead, you stood there, a strange stillness cloaking you.

"Percy" you finally said, your voice cool and controlled, lacking it´s usual warmth.

Confusion warred with the relief. "yn" he repeated, his voice unsteady. "Clarisse didn't – it was him" he stammered, pointing at Luke with his sword. "He stole the bolt. He's joining Kronos"

Percy expected outrage, surprise, anything. Instead, your expression remained unreadable. A shadow flickered across your face, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

"I know what he did" you replied simply. The calmness in your voice sent a shiver down his spine. The casualness of your reply was scary. It was like you were talking about the weather, not a world-shattering betrayal.

There was something wrong. Terribly wrong.

"Then help me" he pleaded, a desperate edge creeping into his voice.

You met his gaze for a long, agonizing moment. Percy saw a flicker of something weird in your eyes, something that made your pupils blown. But then, it was gone, replaced by a fire that mirrored Luke's.

A slow realization dawned on him, cold and heavy in his gut. You weren't surprised. You weren't angry. You knew.

Percy's heart hammered against his ribs. He saw the familiar hilt of your celestial bronze sword hanging loosely at your belt, the moonlight glinting off the polished metal.

"Percy, I can't do that" you said, your voice barely a whisper.

Percy understood then. You weren't caught in the middle. You weren´t with him, you were with Luke, all the way. The truth slammed into him, a betrayal far worse than anything he could have imagined. You were a traitor.

Percy felt like you'd ripped open a fresh wound in his chest and poured lemon juice in it. This sister, this family he'd thought he'd found at camp, meant nothing to you in the face of this rebellion? The anger coursing through him was laced with a bitter disappointment that gnawed at his insides. He'd trusted Luke blindly, sure, but you were different. He'd looked up to you, confided in you. The betrayal cut deep.

"You're with him?" he choked out, the question laced with disbelief and a raw, wounded vulnerability. He couldn´t wrap his mind around it.

"I'm not with him, Percy" you countered, taking a hesitant step forward. He flinched back, the movement a physical manifestation of the emotional chasm that had suddenly opened between you. The pain that flickered across your face was a punch to his gut, but he couldn't ignore the conviction in your voice. "We're together" you continued. "We created this."

Percy couldn't believe what he was hearing. You were so convinced, so blinded by whatever twisted loyalty you felt for Luke, that you couldn't see the bigger picture. "How could you?" he roared, his voice raw with emotion. "How could you do this, to everyone who trusts you? To the people who love you?"

You scoffed, a harsh, humorless sound. "Come on, Percy, you want to talk about betrayal? Let's talk about our father." The words hung heavy in the air, a challenge laden with bitterness. A sudden breeze swept through the woods, rustling the leaves and carrying the salty scent of the ocean as if a wave had crashed nearby. It seemed like even the sea itself reacted to your words.

"Let's talk about the gods" you pressed, your voice laced with a bitter venom. "They get bored at the Olympus, so they play their pretty games, making mortals fall for them and then discarding them like broken toys. Mortals like your mom, like mine. And they leave us, their children, to pick up the pieces."

Percy groaned in frustration. "They're not perfect" he admitted, "they're trying their best for us"

"Don't bullshit me" you say. The calmer your voice was, the more fear Percy felt. "I don’t wanna fight, Percy, but they couldn´t care less”

Luke´s face partially obscured by the shadows, but the jagged scar across his cheek was visible under the moonlight. It was a constant reminder of the failed quest Hermes had sent him on, a cruel mark of a father's neglect.

Percy's gaze flicked between you and Luke, a sudden understanding dawning on him. Your words, your anger, your sadness. It wasn't just about Kronos or overthrowing the Olympians. It was about a deeper wound, a festering resentment born from years of feeling abandoned by your father, his father too. He understood, but he didn´t think it was right.

"But you can't be serious" he finally choked out. "This isn't the answer. There has to be another way."

A flicker of sadness crossed your features, a stark contrast to the steely resolve you'd presented earlier. It was a fleeting glimpse, a crack in the facade you'd constructed, and it tugged at Percy's heartstrings. No, it wasn't jealousy or envy. It was a deeper, more profound sense of loss. You weren't angry at him for having a father who cared just a little bit, for having a family he cherished. You were simply… sad. Sad that you never had that, that your only family was Luke, and that his arrival, however welcome it initially felt, couldn't erase the years of loneliness you'd endured.

Percy´s eyes darted behind you, to Luke.

"Why are you dragging her into this?" Percy demanded, his voice tight with a mixture of anger and protectiveness. He knew you weren't the mastermind, Luke was the one who had poisoned your trust, manipulated your resentment.

"It's not that hard to understand, Percy" you answered before Luke could speak. Your voice held a quiet defiance, a loyalty that both warmed and stung him. "We're together" you repeated, the words laced with a quiet strength that resonated deep within him.

Then it hit him, another wave of realization crashing over him like a rogue wave. It wasn't just loyalty or a shared cause that bound you to Luke. There was something more, something deeper that flickered in your eyes whenever you looked at him.

"You love him" Percy whispered, the words hanging heavy in the air. And it wasn´t a question either, he knew.

A faint blush crept up your cheeks, but you didn't deny it. "We understand each other, Percy. We know what it's like to be unseen, unheard. Isn't that what love is? Empathy, understanding?"

A tear escaped your eye, glistening in the moonlight. Percy could see the pain, the longing in your eyes, how you clinged to the only thing that hugged you back; Luke.

“You’re blind” Percy whispered, hand instinctively groping to the handle of his sword.

"No, Percy" you countered, your voice soft but firm. "I'm awake. I see things for what they are. You know what it feels like, right? To have one person who understands you, who truly sees you" you continued. Your voice softened even further, a hint of vulnerability entering the equation. "Sally, isn't it?"

He flinched at the mention of his mother's name.

"That's love, P." you said, using the nickname you'd once shared. The sound of it sent a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill from his eyes, mirroring the glistening in your own. "And to me, to us" you continued, your voice barely above a whisper, "that's the most powerful thing."

Percy saw the love for Luke burning bright in your eyes, a love that had blinded you to the potential destruction you were embracing. He saw the pain of neglect, the longing for acceptance that fueled your rebellion. But most of all, he saw a glimmer of hope, a flicker of doubt that your tear-filled eyes betrayed.

The weight of your words settled on Percy like a lead blanket. He understood the path you were on, but he couldn't just let you walk away, couldn't let you be consumed by this darkness. The thought of ever having to fight you, to raise his sword against his own sister, filled him with a dread that eclipsed even the fear of facing Kronos himself.

With a desperate surge of defiance, Percy lunged at you, Riptide flashing in the moonlight. You reacted with lightning reflexes, a blur of blue as you deflected his attack with your own celestial bronze sword. The clang of metal echoed through the silent woods, a discordant note in the tense atmosphere.

The fight was short, brutal, and utterly one-sided. You were older, more experienced, and fueled by a burning conviction that mirrored Percy's own determination. A quick twist of your wrist, a disarming maneuver honed through years of training, and Riptide clattered to the ground several feet away.

Percy landed hard on the leaf-strewn ground, the impact knocking the wind out of him. He lay there, disarmed, defeated, and utterly heartbroken. Betrayal gnawed at him, a bitter cocktail of anger and sorrow.

A single tear escaped your eye, tracing a glistening path down your cheek. You knelt down beside him, your touch surprisingly gentle on his shoulder. "Percy," you said, your voice thick with emotion, "you're my brother. I don´t wanna leave you”

Percy looked up at you, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with a storm of conflicting emotions. "Then why?" he choked out, his voice hoarse. "Why are you doing this?"

"Come with me” you continued, your voice softening further. “Come with us, Percy”

A long silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the chirping of crickets and the rustling of leaves in the night breeze.

"I can't, yn" he said, his voice firm despite the tremor that ran through him. "I won't be a part of this, it´s not fair."

A flicker of pain crossed your features. You rose to your feet then, your expression unreadable again.

A curt nod was your only response before you swiped a hand across your cheek, wiping away the traitorous tear. Bending down, you retrieved your celestial bronze sword, the moonlight glinting coldly off its surface.

"Then I guess I won't see you for a while, little one" you said, your voice thick with a maelstrom of emotions. Percy almost flinched at the nickname, a stark reminder of the bond you once shared. The weight of his decision pressed down on him, a suffocating feeling that left him breathless.

Suddenly, a hand clamped softly onto your arm. You whipped around, eyes focusing on Luke, his face grim.

"We have to go" he said urgently, his voice laced with a barely concealed panic.

You glanced back at Percy, his expression a mixture of heartbreak and steely resolve. A million unspoken words hung heavy in the air, a silent plea for you to reconsider, to choose family over rebellion.

But your path was laid. With a final, longing look at Percy, you took a few steps towards a cluster of crumbling ruins that stood there sentinel. Luke reached for your hand, his grip tight with a mix of reassurance and desperation.

Percy watched, a cold dread settling in his gut, as Luke traced a final line, completing the arcane symbol etched onto the column. The air shimmered, a blueish light pooling in the center of the ruins. It widened, forming a shimmering curtain that pulsed with an otherworldly energy.

Luke leaned in, whispering something in your ear. You nodded, a faint smile gracing your lips for a fleeting moment. Then Luke, his face a mask of grim determination, looked back at Percy for a final time. And with a final squeeze of his hand, you both stepped into the shimmering portal. The blue light intensified for a moment, blinding Percy momentarily.

And then just like that, you were gone.

The portal spat you out in a blackness so thick it felt like a physical presence. The air was heavy with the smell of salt and wet sand. You stumbled forward, disoriented, hand instinctively tightening on Luke's. His grip was firm, anchoring you in the swirling darkness.

"Whoa, careful" he murmured, his voice a welcome sound in the suffocating silence.

He took a tentative step forward, then another, testing the ground. You followed suit, your steps hesitant and laced with a growing unease.

"Come on" he said, his voice tinged with urgency, "we gotta get to-"

He cut himself off abruptly as he realized you weren't moving. You stood rooted to the spot, your eyes fixed on something beyond him, your grip on his hand tightening almost painfully.

Luke turned you gently, his brow furrowed in concern as he gazed into your tear-filled eyes. The moonlight, pale and ghostly, illuminated the glistening tracks on your cheeks.

"Baby, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with worry. He cupped your face in his calloused hands, his touch a familiar comfort in the unsettling darkness.

You choked back a sob, the tears overflowing again. "Am I doing the right thing, Luke?" you whispered, your voice barely audible above the crashing waves. "I lost my family, again. Percy. He doesn’t-…”

The raw pain in your voice tore at his heart. He knew this path, this rebellion, would come at a cost, but seeing the emotional toll it was taking on you was a gut punch.

"Hey, hey, look at me" he coaxed, gently lifting your chin so your eyes met his. His gaze was steady, filled with a fierce loyalty that had always been a source of strength for you.

"We were on this path way before Percy arrived, remember?" he asked, his voice firm yet soothing.

You nodded slowly, a single tear tracing a path down your cheek.

"I need you to be strong for me, angel” he continued, his thumb brushing away the tear. "You´re what keeps me going."

He placed a tender kiss on your forehead. "I'll give you everything" he murmured, his voice a low promise. "I promise I'll give you the life you deserve"

Then, he trailed a line of kisses down your cheek, his lips lingering on yours in a final, lingering and sweet kiss.

It was meant to be a reassurance, but it sent a wave of conflicting emotions crashing through you. There was comfort in his touch, a flicker of the love you shared, but it was overshadowed by a gnawing doubt.

When you finally pulled back, a shaky breath escaping your lips, Luke took your hand, his touch gentle yet firm. He looked out at the vast expanse of ocean, then scanned the horizon.

You followed his gaze, squinting through the darkness. A faint flicker of white lights danced in the distance, a beacon in the vast blackness.

"Come on" he said, his voice tinged with newfound purpose. "We gotta get to the cruise."

[love-at-first-sight-23]

Nonsense 🌼✨

JJ Maybank x Fem!reader

Warnings: Implication of smut, reader is smitten with JJ, mentions of drinking, 18+

Plot: Every time you see JJ, your thoughts turn to nonsense. If only he knew what you were thinking…

Part 2 is up— Contains smut ;)

“I’m talkin’ all around the clock. I’m talkin’ hope nobody knocks”

Based on Nonsense by Sabrina Carpenter

JJ Maybank was the only person who could make you feel a certain way. Like you were flying. Like you were sinking straight through the floor. Like you were trapped in a constant ballad of pink and red. Playing over and over again. And you couldn’t get it out of your head. 

Your thoughts were muddled by images of him and his blonde, messy hair and unimaginable blue eyes. You turned bright red and became weak in the knees whenever his name was mentioned.

You weren’t even in his friend group of Pogues. But every time he walked into a party, your stomach turned over. He’d wink at you in his charming way, or engage you in conversation, and you could barely get one word out out of your mouth. Your tongue tied itself up like peanut butter. He didn’t seem to notice, which made you wonder if he did this with every girl. Talked them up until they couldn’t help but be infatuated with him. You wondered if you were just another girl at a party, one to flirt away with and forget about.

But you didn’t want to be “just another girl”. You wanted to be the girl. The girl who he loved. The girl he wanted. The girl who he would fuck out of her mind.

You were wrong. JJ didn’t see you as ordinary. At every party and get-together you were at he started talking to you more and more, until he was actively seeking you out at gatherings. He wanted to know everything about you. He noticed the way you walked, what your favorite foods and drinks were, and how you laughed, just like you noticed his dimples whenever he smiled, the easy way he joked with his friends, and the jewelry he always wore on his neck and hands.

It wasn’t until one Friday night, at a party somewhere, that things really kicked off. You were hanging out with your circle of friends in the center of the floor, drinking a glass of wine. The alcohol buzzed through your veins, making the atmosphere a little warmer.

JJ was close by, leaning against the wall. He too had a glass in his hand and was watching you from afar. He wasn’t talking to his friends. He was focusing on the way your hair tossed lightly when you turned your head from side to side. And how it shimmered slightly in the light. Your outfit tonight was snug and a touch revealing, a short skirt and lacy white top. He noticed how your cleavage was visible at your neck.

As if you sensed his thoughts, at that moment you turned to look at him. Your cheeks burned instantly. You only turned a a deeper shade of red when he waved at you and flashed you a smile. Hesitating at first, you made up your mind and made your way over to him. You ignored your friends giving you curious looks.

JJ grinned at you. “Hey there.”

“H— hi.” Your words jumbled in your throat.  There was a buzzing in your ears that was clouding your mind. “I— um—”

“It’s good to see you here.” As always, JJ was oblivious to your stammering and hardly intelligible sentences.

You looked towards your floor, the buzzing still in your ears. “You, too. You know, I…” You trailed off. There was a lot you wanted to say but wouldn’t dare. You wanted to tell him how you thought of him every day, how damn gorgeous his eyes were, how you wanted him so badly…

“Yeah?” JJ questioned you, interrupting your tornado of thoughts. His head was tilted  to the side as he watched you. You didn’t catch when his eyes traveled downwards to your chest, then flicked back up again.

Your legs felt like jelly. Should you have tried to bolt, you might not have been able to. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the way JJ was looking at you. But you felt like you were in a dream. JJ suddenly didn’t seem real.

“D— Do you want to go back somewhere?” You blurted out.

JJ’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You mean, like…”

“Yes.” Your face closely resembled a cherry tomato. But you couldn’t deny anymore the throbbing feeling between your legs. Growing stronger as you stood in front of JJ.

His eyes narrowed as a smirk grew on his lips. “Hey, why not?” He guided you out of the crowd and out into the hallway, checking over his shoulder to make sure no one spotted you leave. He led you through the halls and took a sharp turn into an empty spare room, where he shut the door behind you.

When you were both in the room he pushed you down onto the bed. Then he was on top of you, and you were in heaven. Your heart was beating out of your chest. One thing was for sure: You both hoped no one would knock.

Do not repost my work! Follow/reblog for more, loves <3

Tag list: @idfcaboutaname, @dirtyslag96, @gillybear17, @agnxstic, @scrappybear89, @redhead1180, @k-k0129, @lucifersgirl, @immyowndefender, @eddxemxnson, @siriusly0guys, @outerb4nkss, @lanasturns3, @code-canine (Let me know if you want to be added or removed)

[spr1ngpvrinbunny]

✨ Headcanon: William’s absurdly fancy sleepwear vs. your casual, scruffy look

At the end of the day, there’s William—stepping out of the bathroom or bedroom, dramatically draped in a lavender silk nightgown, the kind that shimmers under the light as he moves.

The collar and cuffs are lined with plush, fluffy trim (maybe even faux fur) in a soft cream or white, almost regal. It swishes around his ankles elegantly, and of course, he wears it like he’s a king retiring to his chambers.

He’s combed his hair back, too, though a few locks stubbornly fall into his face. Maybe even a little subtle cologne lingering on his skin. He walks in like:

"Darling, I’m ready to retire for the evening."

Meanwhile—you’re sitting on the couch or bed in:

a stretched-out T-shirt with a silly graphic

shorts that definitely have seen better days

maybe mismatched socks or none at all

hair a lil messy, no effort at all

And the contrast is hilarious. (He’d absolutely side-eye you playfully from across the room while you’re still standing there still in your comfy oversized T-shirt and shorts, meanwhile he’s fully draped in silk and luxury, sipping wine like a dramatic villain)

He pauses, looking at you, that little amused smirk tugging at his lips.

"Really, love? That’s what you’re wearin’ to bed next to me?” he teases, gesturing grandly to himself like “look at this masterpiece you’re getting to share a bed with.”

You just shrug, maybe throw a pillow at him or mumble something cheeky like:

"If you wanted me to dress fancy you should’ve given me a 24-hour notice."

But secretly, he loves the contrast. He loves that no matter how glamorous or dramatic he’s being, you’re still entirely yourself—relaxed, cozy, scruffy, comfortable in his presence. It grounds him in a way.

He tries to coax you into matching him. One night he holds up a spare silk robe or pajama set, wiggling it enticingly:

"C’mon, pet, humor me. Won’t you join me in luxury? Think of how dashing we’d look together.”

Alternatively… he ends up wrapping you inside his ridiculous nightgown like a giant lavender burrito when you crawl into bed, tucking you against him with a smug little hum.

"See? Softest sleepin’ you’ll ever have."

If he’s feeling extra dramatic and playful, you know he’s got the matching lavender silk slippers (maybe even with little embroidered gold accents or subtle tassels, because of course he’d go that extra step). He glides around the house like he’s floating, sipping tea or a nightcap, acting like royalty. Or the second choice is—BUNNY SLIPPERS.

Not just any bunny slippers, either. They’re white and fuzzy, with ridiculous floppy ears and tiny pink noses, and they squeak slightly when he walks. He wears them completely unbothered, as if they’re part of a royal ensemble. The contrast is insane—this tall, imposing man in an elegant lavender silk robe, collar fluffed up like a cape, and on his feet? Cartoonish little bunnies quietly boop boop boop across the floor.

When you give him that look, he raises a brow like:

"What? They keep my feet warm. You think I’m going to freeze for vanity?"

Then he sits back with his legs crossed regally on the couch—slippers and all. If you try to tease him about them, he’ll lift one foot in the air and wiggle it at you.

"Don’t mock the slippers. They have names."

What are the names? No one knows. He refuses to say.

(But you’re 99% sure he calls them Sir Hopsalot and Baron Fluffington when he thinks you're asleep.)

But on nights he’s more tired, relaxed, or wants to be closer to earth (emotionally, mentally), he’d absolutely go barefoot—quietly padding across the floor, silk gown trailing behind him, hair a little more rumpled, no theatrics, just soft William. He might even curl up beside you on the couch instead of his usual proud posture.

If he’s barefoot and you try to step on the back of his heel just to mess with him, he’d give you the most outraged gasp like you just insulted the monarchy.

"HOW dare you—my Achilles—" he dramatically collapses onto the bed.

And the whole time, he’s probably can't stop teasing:

"Really, darling? You’re going to let me look this magnificent while you… wear that?" (but his smirk shows he secretly finds it endearing)

Later? He’s tugging you into his lap, wrapping the soft silk fabric around you both like a blanket cocoon, pressing a kiss to your temple and murmuring:

"Doesn’t matter what you wear, you’re still mine."

Bonus fluff: if you actually cave and wear the matching robe one night? He’d pretend he’s so smug and victorious but inside he’s MELTING because you’re humoring his silliness.

[lyn31]

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DFdZ4ljyRVT/?igsh=MWN1ZXAwZmpjcHQ2bw==

This is so serena and daddy zayne coded likeee i can totally see this happening with them 🥹 little serena wearing her new princess dress waiting for zayne to come home and see her in the new dress 🥹 ughhh that would be peak cuteness AAAAAAAA

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Alicia Ruiz (@aliciadanielleruiz)

UGH 🫶🏻😩 Absolutely adorable!! So ofc I have to — 👀

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Wait and See

Summary

You help your little daughter dress up to surprise Zayne after work, melts hearts with her quiet excitement—unaware that your little idea will ripple into something even more unforgettable.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Family fluff, child!OC, cute, silly, adorable, god help me! Short and sweet!

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(The dress is technically like this but with gold bow! Can't find anything else on google)

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“Hold still, sweetheart,” you murmur, adjusting the tiny gold bow at the back of Serena’s dress. “Almost done.”

She wiggles, but only a little—barely a twitch of her legs as she sits on the edge of the bed. She’s been unusually cooperative today, letting you slide her arms through the ruffled sleeves and button the back without protest. Her quiet patience only confirms it: she knows this is important.

The dress is emerald green, a birthday gift from Rose that you’d tucked away until today. Layers of tulle make it puff slightly around her knees, and the embroidered flowers along the hem shimmer when she shifts. She’s too little to fully understand what “looking pretty” means, but she’s caught onto one thing with certainty.

“Daddy will like it?” she asks in a tiny voice, eyes flicking to yours.

You smile, brushing her dark hair back behind one ear. “He’s going to love it.”

Her lips purse—her version of a smile—but she’s already turning toward the mirror. You crouch beside her, watching as she peers at herself with faint curiosity. She tilts her head, tugs lightly at the skirt, then lifts her arms and lets the fabric fall back down around her legs.

You rest your cheek against her shoulder. “You want to show him when he gets home?”

She nods. Just once. But her hands clench the skirt with quiet excitement.

“All right. Then we wait. But no rolling on the floor this time, okay?”

“…’Kay,” she murmurs, though the corners of her mouth twitch like she might forget.

You lead her to the couch and settle her there with her stuffed rabbit, which she immediately hugs to her chest like a shield to protect her dress. She sits perfectly still, feet swinging just above the floor.

You glance at the time. Zayne should be home soon.

The sound of the front door opening is soft—but Serena hears it before you do.

She sits up straighter on instinct, her back perfectly stiff, like she’s been waiting for this exact cue. Her little fingers clutch the hem of her dress, knuckles white. You can practically feel the anticipation vibrating off her.

You glance up from the kitchen doorway just in time to hear the familiar rustle of Zayne’s coat being hung, followed by the quiet click of his shoes being placed neatly by the entryway.

Then, his voice, gentle and calm. “I’m home.”

Serena doesn’t run. She doesn’t shout. She simply slides off the couch, careful not to wrinkle her skirt, and walks—slowly, deliberately—toward the hallway. Her snow bunny plushie is still in one hand, held like a formality now.

Zayne rounds the corner, one hand still loosening his tie. And the moment he sees her, he stops.

His expression shifts slowly. A subtle pause in the way his fingers fall from his collar, and his eyes go soft, locked entirely on the tiny girl in front of him.

Serena lifts her chin and spreads her arms, wordlessly presenting herself.

“…For me?” Zayne asks, a gentle smile on his face.

She nods once, then looks down at her dress like she’s just remembering it’s there. Her fingers pat the tulle lightly, smoothing a crease like she’s remembering something important. “Mummy said you’d like it.”

He steps forward, kneels with one hand braced on his knee. “She was right.”

Serena twirls once, just like she practiced, then walks closer, until she’s close enough for him to gently touch the fabric. His gloved fingers trace the embroidered flowers along the hem.

“You look beautiful, Serena. The cutest daughter.”

That’s all it takes. Her face breaks into a rare, bright smile—just for him. She throws herself into his arms, snow bunny plushie squished between them. Zayne doesn't hesitate, he wraps her up tight.

“I missed you too,” he says into her hair, soft and certain. “Thank you for showing me the dress.”

You watch from the doorway, leaning on the frame with your arms folded, the quiet warmth of it all blooming in your chest.

She did wait—for over an hour, trying not to wrinkle her dress, just for this. And somehow, it was absolutely worth it.

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(Serena's dress this time)

(I couldn’t find it… What I’m picturing is something like this, but closer to Serena’s dress. It would have a sash or belt made from the same fabric, and the design would be more like a unisex dress. Apparently, it doesn’t actually exist—but even if it’s technically a dress, it still works, hahaha. It’s cute to imagine the twins wearing one 😂🫶🏻)

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The door clicks softly behind you as you step into the house, shrugging off your jacket with a sigh. It’s not late, just later than usual—Hunter business has been demanding lately, reports stacking up, patrols doubling with Wanderer sightings on the rise. Your muscles ache in that familiar, dull way, and all you want is a hot shower and a quiet evening with your family.

You're not even halfway through kicking off your boots when a voice calls out—sharp, urgent, and terribly excited.

“Positions!”

It’s Serena.

You freeze.

The living room lights flick on all at once. You blink, and then—there they are.

Your daughter stands front and center in a soft red dress, her dark hair now with a slight red shade brushed and clipped neatly with a satin bow. On either side of her, Lucas and Callum beam at you in what can only be described as ruffled dress tunics with matching red sashes. They both lift their arms in unison like this is a performance, one foot forward, cheeks puffed with pride.

And behind them… you have to clap a hand over your mouth.

Zayne.

There’s a large, soft red bow nestled into his hair, tied just above one ear. His shirt has been swapped for one a shade too bright to be natural on him, and his sleeves are rolled up with suspiciously glittery edges. He stands calmly, posture straight, not even trying to look sheepish.

“…Welcome home,” he says, utterly serious. “We’ve been expecting you.”

You laugh—a sharp, joyful sound that bounces off the walls. “What on earth—?”

Serena steps forward and curtsies, proud and deliberate. “It’s Mummy turn now,” she says.

“My turn?”

She nods, face alight. “Remember the picture you showed me the other day?” she begins, “you helped me get dressed up to show Daddy. So now I wanted to show you. All of us.”

You feel something tug in your chest.

“And Daddy helped. I picked the color.” She adds a little prouder this time.

You crouch down, arms opening without a second thought. Lucas barrels into you first, followed by Callum with a delighted “Mummy!” Serena walks over calmly and wraps her arms around your waist.

“You look beautiful,” you murmur against her hair.

She hums. “You do too. Even though you didn’t dress up.”

You lift your gaze over her head to meet Zayne’s, your lips twitching.

“And you,” you add, “with the bow? Very cute, darling.”

He raises a brow. “Serena was very persuasive.”

You laugh again, warmer this time, completely undone. “Of course she was. I mean, clearly. I walked into a parade.”

“She wrote a schedule,” he says, deadpan. “With glitter pen.”

Serena beams.

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Notes

Hehehehehehehehehe *ahem* I mean what do you expect? 😂🫶🏻

I was editing to add the rest of the series part but it was too long ahahaha so here's just the whole list: Parenthood AU Masterlist ✨

Although if you missed the Newlyweds series! Here How it all happen And also the Pregnancy series, starting with Try For Baby

[museenkuss]

Marie Museenkuss Advent Calendar

For this advent season, I've prepared a selection of little treats - recipes, things to read or things to watch that I enjoy (or wrote) and am excited to share with you over the next few days. Each day, I'll 'open' another door to reveal the treat. I hope we can celebrate and have fun together!

[💎] To start, a cosy Christmas crime classic: Hercule Poirot's Christmas

[🦊] One of my all-time favourite fairy tales, Allerleirauh, can be read on this website! If you'd like to turn pages and see an illustration or two, you can also read it in the Green Fairy Book via archive.org, but beware - that version is censored!

[🪞] An all-time classic of a different kind, maybe just in time now that the New Year is slowly seeping in: Joan Didion's Essay "On Self Respect"

[💌] Feelings inspired to write? I’ve got some shimmering, cool, delicate december prompts ready for you!

[🗝️] In the spirit of the censored Allerleirauh: Read my thoughts on death, mutilation and the gruesome in fairy tales

[👢] On the morning of the sixth, German children will find little treats in their boots that Nikolaus left for them the night before. Let's use some of them (apples, marzipan(optional), nuts) to make a traditional German christmas treat - the Bratapfel. Rezept. Authentic English recipe.

[🏮] Let's take a virtual trip to the Tate and look at Sargent's Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose in two short videos that focus on description and technique!

[✨] The nostalgic excitement of entering a theatre and watching the other guests before the show - Chanel's A/W 2024/25 Haute Couture Show blends Opera and High Fashion.

[☕️] Today (very appropriate for the temperature drop), we're learning how to make French hot chocolate: [written recipe] [video]

[🦢] Do you have an hour to spare? Enjoy this charming little volume on perfume from 1928, a love letter to fragrance filled with anecdotes from all over the world and illustrated by the wonderful George Barbier: The romance of perfume by Richard Le Gallienne

[🌹] A Renaissance princess and her baroque prince... Here's a magical performance of Sleeping Beauty by the Bolshoi Ballet

[12] 🎪

[🍰 ] With eleven days left, there's still more than enough time to make the Fortnum&Mason Christmas Cake in time for Christmas! [the official F&M christmas cookbook has a very similar recipe for a fruit cake, but without the soaking and with a layer of fondant on top. let me know if you'd be interested in that, I'll post a pic]

[💋] today, let’s read one of my favourite sensual poems for winter: Francis Jammes — Tu Seras Nu (You will be nude), translated by Kenneth Rexroth

[🖋] This sunday, let's write! Or, alternatively: Let's daydream! Here are some brand new prompts for inspiration.

[🎞️] In the spirit of daydreaming: You and I by Papooz, Weak for your Love by Thee Sacred Souls, Mystery by Raveena are three extremely different but visually stunning music videos to songs I absolutely adore. To start this week, take a little moment to watch and listen, dream and dance.

[🍷] Easy poached pears in red wine with vanilla - a gorgeous, ruby-coloured dessert. I've made (regular) poached pears before and they are just as easy as this title suggests. But I'm SO eager to try (and share <3) this variant!

[18] 🎠

[🐻] After a long, tiring day of Christmas shopping (or Christmas stress), let's relax with a whimsical film! Panna a netvor (Beauty And The Beast) from 1978 <3

[💫] Imagine a zine, except more whimsical and more complicated - today, we're learning how to make a Victorian Puzzle Purse! They're so pretty, perfect add-ons for a christmas gift - or adorable presents in their own right.

[🩰] I feel like Christmas is the time where we can truly reconnect to the magic of childhood. So today, let's put on our (imaginary) ballet slippers and do a little 5-min Nutcracker ballet choreo in our living room! Whether we're dancers or not honestly doesn't matter - nobody is watching us, this is all about enjoying the fantasy of a snow-sparkling night. We're playing pretend! And if you'd rather improvise to something more dramatic, I used to whirl around to Borodin's Polovtsian Dances.

[🕰️] During this cold, dark evening, I present to you one of my favourite poems, caught between romanticism and irony: Heine's Old Chimney Piece (in translation).

[🎟️] About a year ago, Joel Haver made a video looking back on 4 years of uploading weekly short films. It's one of my favourite videos, visually, in its tone and regarding its message, and I feel now that the year is coming to a close, it might be a really inspiring watch: it's been fun.

[🎄] I wish I could invite you all over to show you the illustrated edition of E.T.A. Hoffmann's Nutcracker that my parents gifted me in 2001. Instead, I offer you a very nice translation: Nutcracker and the King of Mice - and, if you're the audiobook type, I found a good translation with Tchaikovsky's music here. The story is haunting, delicate, glittering, unheimlich. It starts on Christmas Day and infuses the following days and nights with magic. It was such a joy to share this Advent Calendar with you and I hope that with this, I can share some of my Christmas festivities with you, too, since they're so entwined with this story (and since the first chapters also somewhat accurately depict how I celebrate Christmas, too - on the evening of the 24th, after decorating the tree). Lots and lots of Love, darlings! I hope you have a magical day, a magical evening, and a very Merry Christmas!

[luminescentlyricist]

🎠 Path Paving 🌹

Carrie awoke, eyes blinking slowly. She didn’t want to greet the day, of course, but the beds not being particularly comfortable made up for any will to sleep in. Due to the nature of the troupe, lodgings were seldom given any comfort. Everyone had things to do. Movements to make. One was reluctant, though their complaints remained unvoiced. Too much happened for her to waste time on such petty little whims, much less pushing them onto anyone else to deal with.

She sat up, the sheets falling away from the top half of her body and leaving her near-bare arms to prickle with goosebumps. The sensation was a shock, seeing as she usually made sure to block her tent’s entrance as much as possible, but she chalked it up to her father’s antics. He didn’t need any permission from those he thought inferior, as the Ringmaster, even when it came to invading more personal affairs. It was a pain, yes, but something she expected. Privacy was inexistent between them due to how ‘tight-knit” Homura wanted his employees to be.

That was just code. He wanted them to be loyal to him, and letting bonds forge between those he considered pawns would just make subduing a group that much easier. So boundaries were important - just not to him. He was leagues above the rest.

His daughter’s eyes, despite still adjusting to the dim surroundings, flickered over to the entrance to work out what was actually going on. She couldn’t see much beyond the fabric, but the amount of light and noise let her know that someone had shifted it earlier in the day. Kicking the lower portion of the sheets away from her legs, she groaned aloud in protest. Ultimately, there wasn’t enough of a valid fight she could put on to halt the sun in the sky. Swinging upright and over the edge of her bed, the young performer shrugged on a jacket and slid on shoes while still fighting back a yawn.

Upon closer inspection, a small figurine of a cat with gleaming red eyes had been placed in her path to the outside world.

So it hadn’t been her father after all…

With visible relief, Carrie allowed themself to roll their shoulders and shrug away some of the tension that’d built at the prospect of meeting with their father. However good his intentions were, intimidation was something that Homura relied upon to have the upper hand in any interaction. Bending down at the waist to pick up the figure, she noticed there was a note attached with tape onto its front paw. Folded beneath the left, a trademark of only one performer she knew - if the animal itself weren’t a good enough indicator.

She placed the cat in her pocket, smoothing a finger over its head with a quiet affection. This cat was something often passed between she and its initial owner, with her notes attached to the back left paw instead. Though the distinction was unnecessary, it felt strange putting anything on the right - and thus out of the way - because of her own dominant hand. Unfolding the note, her eyes skimmed the page. It’d been many years of deciphering Kazuki’s scrawls before she was able to read them at a glance, and there were still some days she had to ask the overexcited aerialist for confirmation in person. Of course that rendered their secret communications moot, but proved necessary the irritating majority of the time.

The note itself was short, just inviting Carrie over to their tent to watch them “do something new”, with some mention of a hobby they’d picked up. She had a feeling it was more than that, but wasn’t going to deny a chance to see her friend. It had been a busy week of performances, so the little ‘downtime’ she had was precious to her. That meant neglecting herself in favour of others, unless her father had dragged her off to do some maintenance work instead. She placed it in her pocket and proceeded across the Sparkslide grounds, though her vision swept anxiously around. They didn’t want to get caught and dragged away.

One particular figure within the crowd milling around caught her eye, but she made no move to engage them because of her mission. The knife-thrower, Dahlia, had hopefully settled in since Carrie’d last seen them. They weren’t wearing their signature wig, but had been too little a blur in Carrie’s periphery for her to gauge what their hair actually looked like. Their last encounter had been less than amicable, but the performer was still coming to terms with the fact that it hadn’t been a nightmare. She was all too willing and eager to forget the details of almost being skewered by the knife-thrower. They were a friend, after that, but the young woman wasn’t quick to trust others in general. Especially not when her father had his claws in all affairs.

Eyes falling to the ground, Carrie dug her heels into the path for a moment of forced pause. Her mind had begun to wander, and she wasn’t sure she liked looking into the crowd’s faces. Luckily enough, she knew the way to Kazuki’s tent with her eyes closed. Instead, she made the rest of the journey there with gaze trained at her feet, arm held protectively to both shield her vision and prevent her bumping into anyone on the way there. Something did run into her path, a streak of black with pale eyes, but she’d not processed it was a cat until she’d reached her destination. They often followed Kaz around, almost as if protecting them, and it was as if they knew Carrie herself was no threat. She had enough scrapes and bruises from her daily practices to make up for the lack of claw marks, however.

Her luck was famously bad, and the black cats were just the cherry on top. Grimacing at the thought of having to nurse more scratches, she knocked on the panel of wood that served to shield the tent’s entrance from onlookers. Hers had been shifted earlier by the very aerialist she sought. They didn’t particularly mind if they were turned away, but being outside made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. The sound of clicking heels grew louder, soothing any worries, and she was soon greeted by the familiar face of Kazuki at the doorway. Their cotton-candy dyed hair was duller than normal, presumably due to lack of supplies at the troupe’s current location, but their smile was vibrant as ever. 

“Kaz, you know you don’t have to barge into my tent while I sleep… It’s kinda creepy.”

Carrie only said this as a way of greeting her friend, a gentle smile playing at her lips. They took it with grace as always, a wide grin on their own face as they stepped away from the doorway and allowed their friend inside. So she sat, picking her way through a strewn path of silks, hoops and all manner of other tricks scattered across the floor. She’d no doubt that Kaz had a reason to be messy at all times, mainly when it came to laying out their thoughts in a more tangible manner to sort through - a method Carrie herself often employed - but had no intention to trip over so soon.

She thought there were things to discuss.

“Of course I don’t! But where’s the fun in that?”

Kazuki was lucky he was hard to be mad at. Their smiles and apologies both were genuine at all times, and it was remarkably hard to find someone so precious. Still, Carrie waited in a stunned silence before digging around in her pocket to break the stilted atmosphere. Pulling out the cat, she set it gently down on a cluttered side table and once again pet it on the head a few times.

“You wanted to show me something, right? A new move or another dubious hobby? I don’t think we have much time, so you better make this quick.”

She murmured, brows furrowing. Carrie hadn’t intended to be rude, but her words weren’t the best. Truthfully, her heart was hammering in her chest, and she couldn’t quite figure out why. Kaz was preoccupied, wringing their hands in a distracted manner and refusing to look their companion in the eye. Their expression had fallen similarly to the other’s, but they didn’t want to show outward concern to Carrie so openly and cause them more worry. If anyone was aware just how fragile Carrie could be when it came to panicking about other peoples’ safety instead of their own, it was Kaz. So, being a performer by nature, they forced a smile back onto their lips and silently gestured for their friend to follow them outside the tent.

Picking their way through the bushes, the aerialist followed a simultaneously overgrown and well-worn path for a few minutes. Pushing lightly against a trellis, the large structure yielded to his touch only enough to swing on rusted hinges. These had been covered by leaves, positioned accurately enough that no prying eyes would glimpse the metal beneath. They spared a glance backward only to check that their companion hadn’t fallen, sighing gently but otherwise refusing to speak until they’d led her away into the clearing behind the ‘gate’.

There lay roses.

Bushes upon bushes filled the area, each in its own stage of development and bloom, with countless fallen petals cushioning the pair’s footsteps. The scent was enough to make Carrie’s eyes water, but it wasn’t a bad thing. For a moment, she remained in a state of shock, the drone of their many friendly pollinators remaining the only constant sound in the surrounds. A tear ran down her cheek, and the first movement she made was wiping it away before Kaz could see. She knew that her friend had created the scene, due to how often the cats had hissed at her when she tried to move around the back of the tent.

“It’s beautiful, Kaz. Thank you.”

Their voice was little more than a whisper, nearly reverent in tone. Though they knew it wasn’t just for them, the sight of so many roses made their heart ache. The flowers were special to them because of Kazuki, after all, and she had a feeling he knew that. There would have been little reason for them to risk bringing the other into their private space if that weren't true.

Though the aerialist was anything but secretive, keeping the flowers away from anyone that might’ve killed them was of utmost priority. They had to flourish, and it was a private joy that he hadn’t wanted the Ringmaster to extinguish or covet for himself. There was a reason why he’d kept it from Carrie until the flowers had opened properly, despite her lack of ill will. Her bad luck was just the thing that would nullify the hard work they’d put into their garden. 

Though the troupe would come to move from their current location, taken by the needs of the Ringmaster for entertainment, it would continue to bloom through rain and shine for a few moments longer. That was more than enough, because Kaz had always had no trouble leaving things behind. The second performer, engrossed in the sights before her, had chosen to stay. She wasn’t moving, quiet breaths solely displaying her liveliness. 

Creeping ivy tendrils, growing to support the latticed roses, had spread in equal measure beneath the petals. They would climb, indiscriminate, around anything that looked stable enough. The aerialist was aware of this. They kept themselves elevated, stamping their feet occasionally to ward off the plants. They were almost scared of him for a reason he couldn’t explain. Plants weren’t sentient, after all.

However, they watched as ivy coiled itself around Carrie’s legs, thinking no harm would come of it. But she didn’t react, frozen with that gentle smile on her lips. A realisation hung in the air, stronger than the perfume of the roses.

Carrie could no longer move forward when Kaz was by her side.

[psychedeliclulu]

💚🌸👓🫰🏻✨

Green is my favorite color (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

This drawing was born above all because I had accumulated a lot of traditional media that I wanted to use in some way🤣👍🏻✨

In particular, that washi tape with the triangle pattern seemed very suitable to Yu (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)💖✨

In this short video you can see all the iridescent and shimmering effects a little better!

(the lights and colors are a bit meh but...oh well💁🏻‍♀️)

[the-griffons-saddlebag]

⚔️ 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗺! Gauntlets of the Midnight Leopard
Wondrous item, rare (requires attunement) ___ These dark purple leather gloves are lined with a matching leopard’s fur. While wearing them, your eyes shimmer in the dark, like a cat’s, and you have a climbing speed of 30 feet. Short, diamond claws are attached to the gauntlets’ fingertips. While wearing them, you can use a bonus action to retract or extend the claws. While extended, the clawed gauntlets turn unarmed strikes with your hands into magic weapons that deal slashing damage, with a +1 bonus to attack and damage rolls and a damage die of 1d6 (unless the damage of your unarmed strikes is already higher). 𝙋𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙘𝙚. When you take the Attack action while wearing these gauntlets, you can replace any of your normal attacks with a special unarmed strike. When you do, you leap up to 15 feet away, provided you have the movement to do so, and any opportunity attack against you is made with disadvantage. At the end of the leap, you can immediately make an unarmed strike against a target within your reach. On a hit, the target must succeed on a DC 15 Strength saving throw or be knocked prone. The target automatically succeeds on the saving throw if it’s more than one size larger than you, if you moved less than 15 feet when leaping, or if you’ve already hit the target with an unarmed strike on this turn. ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for less than $10 a month!

[honeytonedhottie]

HONEYS IT GIRL MAGAZINE march edition⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🎀

welcome back to honeys it girl magazine, this is the march catalog. get ready for the inside scoop on data that i've collected, things i've learned/started doing, and just general info like that organized in kind of a teen-magazine inspired fashion. a magazine for it girls ✨ and now please enjoy, the it girl magazine.

MUST HAVE FASHION ITEMS ;

for march/spring fashion in general its so fun to dress like a winx doll or a fairy. i feel magical in flowy material that shimmers, adorable mini skirts and accessories like gold bangles and waist chains.

when im going shopping, im mainly buying clothes for hot girl summer bcuz im just so excited and can't wait. plus i wanna be prepared yk? some patterns that i've noticed in my shopping patterns are that im buying lots of camisoles and sleeveless shirts.

also i've been looking for cute shorts and low waisted jeans. im looking for cute things to embroider onto the jeans and shorts to personalize them and make them feel more "summery".

something that i started was a FASHION BINDER. i followed @prissygrlsorority's idea for a fashion binder and started my own and so far im having SUCH an amazing time. i want to take time and perfect my binder but so far its going well ✨

spring traditionally has LOTS of pastel colors so formulate a color scheme based on pastel colors that look good on you. some rly good examples for color scheme this spring include

something to note for spring fashion specifically is to not look for colors that are specifically dark or bland, the idea behind spring fashion is giving fresh flowerbed, something REFRESHING.

FOR THE BLOG ;

i've been working this month on a larger project that i think you guys would really enjoy and find useful. it'll be released on the first of march and i'll announce it exactly a week before.

additionally during the month of march i expanded my blog by setting up a membership system and facilitating a way for u guys to tip my work and support my blog. i've also offered my services if u might want them.

for the month of april u can expect a variety of content but i wanted to get input from you guys on what you'd like to see the most so i'll be releasing a poll for april content later today.

HOT GIRL SUMMER PREP ;

look, ik its only march but hot girl summer is right around the corner so here are some ways that you can prepare yourself for the summer, so that you can be your most glowy, confident, and radiant self ✨

you can moisturize ur skin with the most sweet smelling and extravagant body butters and creams, but if ur skin is dull and dead you won't get that GLOW that u so desperately seek

for this i recommend juicing (i'll get more into health in the wellness girlies section) and start dry brushing to promote blood circulation and remove dead skin cells from ur body, leaving ur skin feeling baby smooth. also i recommend using a body scrub 2-3x a week depending on the sensitivity of your skin.

if u liked this hot girl summer prep section u can continue reading right one of my recent posts where i went more in depth about how u can prepare for ur hot girl summer.

OH HOW I ADORE BEING A WOMAN ;

this months catalog was in collaboration with @pastel-charm-14 and this section of the magazine was written by her ✨🫶🏽

march brings more than just the promise of spring, it's also a time to celebrate the amazing women who've shaped history. as women's history month rolls around, we can't help but reflect on what it means to be a part of this incredible legacy.

think about those bold suffragettes who fought tooth and nail for our right to vote. they weren't just distant figures in history books; they were real women with fire in their hearts and determination in their eyes. and what about the everyday heroes—the moms, sisters, and friends who quietly make the world a better place?

they might not be famous, but they have such an incredible impact. so here's to us—here's to the laughs, the tears, and everything in between. here's to celebrating our history, our struggles, and our triumphs—because they're what make us who we are.

cheers to being women, and cheers to the journey ahead. being a woman isn't always easy, but i know wouldn't have it any other way.

FOR THE WELLNESS GIRLIES ;

something that has come to my attention is that i drink a lot of fluids early in the morning. i've known that it was good to drink fluids in the morning, specifically water, but i wanted to have an in depth explanation of why it was good. so i googled it ofc.

ur body is dehydrated while u sleep so when u drink water first thing in the morning it helps ur body to recover from the temporary dehydration.

your body absorbs fluids faster in the morning on an empty stomach. so my routine has been, once i wake up to have an 8 oz cup of water, but water isnt the only thing that i drink in the morning.

bcuz fluids are so quickly and efficiently absorbed in ur body in the morning, you can drink other healthy drinks and reap the benefits. some things that i drink in the morning are ;

chlorophyll - this makes me feel so clean, it boosts red blood cells production and helps with glowy skin and weight loss. plus after i drink it i feel so clean, like a fresh out of the shower feeling

ginger shots - these are pretty lethal but they r so good for you. ginger shots are rly good for digestion issues and bloating, and it also boosts ur immunity which is always good

kombuchas - this one i dont drink on an empty stomach, but drinking kombucha in the morning though rly helps with bloating and reduces inflammation, leaving me looking snatched

FUN QUIZZES, VIDEO ESSAYS, RECIPES AND GAMES ;

what kind of flirt are you? - seventeen magazine

whats ur girl power anthem? - seventeen magazine

what kind of dessert are you? - queendom

FOOD FOR THOUGHT ;

this is the video that im going to be thinking about in order to write this section and here's what i thought about it.

ok so the conflict is unique but personally if i was the husband i wouldn't be mad bcuz its not like the wife was IN the bed with the brother in law 😭 she just said that he could use it cuz he was so sleepy. i think that what she did was nice and the husband could've communicated that he was uncomfortable in a better way then to get angry. but in that same breath the wife knows how strongly her husband feels about things like this so maybe she could've been more considerate. like bring out a pillow and some blankets for the brother in law and let him rest on the couch or whatever 💀.

if u thought differently or if u wanna elaborate on that and have more of a discussion feel free to share ur own opinions and thoughts in the comment section.

[sikyulioness]

✨"Illusions of Fate"✨

If all you want we can make this a chapter series ✨

_________. ._________

The world of hunters was a brutal place—one where survival depended on raw power, strategy, and sometimes, a little bit of luck. But there were few who knew power like you did. As the Monarch of Illusion, you held sway over reality itself, a being whose grace, elegance, and boundless confidence could make anyone’s head spin. You were the definition of perfection, and you knew it.

But perfection could be... boring. After all, when you had everything, what was left to do but to seek out the most interesting and dramatic things the world had to offer? That’s when you came across Sung Jinwoo.

He was nothing short of a legend in the making—a player who had climbed his way from the lowest ranks of the hunter world to an almost incomprehensible power. But, you couldn’t help but notice that despite his power, the poor man was terribly lacking in finesse, in style.

That’s where you came in.

---

The night was still, a perfect evening for a bit of drama. Jinwoo was on a raid, as usual, leading his group through the dungeon with a focused and steely determination. He had no idea that he was about to face something much more challenging than mere monsters or enemies. No, you were far more complicated—and far more entertaining.

You appeared suddenly before them, stepping out from the shadows with a dramatic flair. The very air around you shifted, bending and twisting as if it couldn’t decide whether you were a goddess or a mirage. Your attire was nothing short of extravagant—flowing silks that shimmered in the faint light, delicate chains of starlight adorning your neck, and a regal, confident smile that made everything feel like a performance.

Jinwoo’s eyes snapped to you instantly. His sword was at the ready, and the atmosphere around him crackled with tension. But you didn’t flinch. Oh no, you reveled in his reaction, enjoying every second of it.

You tilted your head as you regarded him, your eyes gleaming with mischief. "Well, well, what do we have here?" you purred, your voice smooth as velvet. "Sung Jinwoo, the legendary Player. How adorable."

Jinwoo’s grip on his sword tightened as his eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" he demanded, trying to size you up, but you were always several steps ahead, a whirlwind of power wrapped in elegance.

You shrugged in an exaggerated fashion, almost as though you were bored by his lack of recognition. "Who am I? Darling, I am the Monarch of Illusion, the undisputed diva of the realm. But if you must call me something, you can call me Princess—it has a certain... charm, don’t you think?" You gave him a wink, your expression playful but undeniably confident.

Jinwoo’s brows furrowed in confusion, his stance still defensive. "Monarch of Illusion? What do you want from me?" he asked, clearly not sure what to make of the situation.

You stepped closer to him, the air around you shimmering with every movement. "What do I want? Oh, darling, it’s not about what I want—it's about what you need," you purred, voice low and sultry. "You, my dear Jinwoo, are an incredibly interesting man. You have power, strength, but you’re so... dull."

Jinwoo’s expression hardened. "I don’t have time for games."

You chuckled lightly, as though his words were nothing more than a passing breeze. "Oh, but darling, this isn’t a game. This is a performance." You twirled around him in a dramatic circle, as if the world itself was a stage and you were the leading lady. "And I’m here to make sure you play your part... perfectly."

Before Jinwoo could respond, you raised a hand, and suddenly the world around you both began to shift. The ground beneath your feet turned into a pristine, glossy stage, lights twinkling as though you had just stepped into a grand theater. Your illusions wove themselves around him like a dancer—graceful, fluid, and full of life.

Jinwoo tensed, sword still raised, but you didn’t give him a chance to act. You stepped forward with a fluid motion, just inches from him now. "Do you know how boring it is to see you hide all your power behind that stoic little face of yours?" you whispered, your breath warm against his ear. "You're strong, but you’re so... predictable. You’re playing a role that doesn’t suit you, Jinwoo. Don’t you ever want to shine? To truly take center stage?"

He stiffened at your words, but you could see the flicker of something—curiosity? Was it possible that you had finally caught his attention?

Before he could speak, you raised your other hand, and an illusionary wall of mirrors appeared, reflecting countless versions of you—each one as flawless as the last. You smirked as you looked at the confused Jinwoo, letting the multiple images swirl around him, creating a labyrinth of light and shadow.

"Let’s see how well you handle this little test of yours, shall we?" you teased, twirling once more, your voice like honey. "Show me what you’ve got, handsome. I’m dying to see if you can make this interesting."

Jinwoo’s gaze sharpened. He could feel the intensity building, the weight of your illusions pressing down on him. But instead of backing down, his eyes hardened with resolve. He would fight. He would win.

With a grunt, Jinwoo launched himself at the nearest reflection of you, his blade cutting through the air with deadly precision. But the illusion flickered, and it wasn’t you—it was another reflection, another image. You had anticipated his every move.

Laughing softly, you tilted your head and glided just out of reach. "Oh, darling, you’re so cute when you’re frustrated," you purred, your voice a mixture of mockery and admiration. "But you’ll have to do better than that to catch me."

Jinwoo’s frustration was growing, but he knew he had to focus. He closed his eyes for a moment, clearing his mind, and then—he struck. This time, he didn’t rely on just raw power. He focused on his instincts, on what he knew about you. And when he opened his eyes again, it was as if the illusions were clearer, the reflections weaker. He cut through them with ease, one after another, until finally, he found himself face to face with you.

You stood there, just beyond reach, watching him with that playful glint in your eye. "Oh, bravo, darling," you said, clapping lightly. "You’re not as hopeless as I thought. But don’t get too cocky. You still haven’t seen the best of me."

You winked, and in an instant, you were gone, replaced by an illusion that faded into nothing. The world around Jinwoo shifted again, returning to normal, but the feeling of your presence lingered, like the echo of a dream that he couldn’t quite shake.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, but there was an edge to it. "I’m not interested in games," he said, though there was something different in his eyes. "But I won’t forget you."

You appeared before him one last time, your smile sharp and knowing. "Oh, sweetie," you purred, stepping close enough that he could feel the heat of your presence. "You’ll never forget me. But don’t worry, you’re so much more interesting than I thought. Keep it up, Jinwoo... and maybe we’ll see each other again soon."

Before he could say another word, you were gone again, leaving only the lingering memory of your touch, your words, and the taste of something dangerous in the air.

Jinwoo stood in the now empty arena, still reeling from the encounter. You, the Monarch of Illusion, had not only caught his attention—you had distracted him. And despite himself, he knew he’d be thinking about you long after this night ended.

You were a diva, a force of nature, and perhaps... just a little too captivating for him to ignore.

_____

The End

[obsessive-valentine]

Hello,

what if reader tries to act nice and docile just so that childhood fae yandere lowers his guard but later tries to escape and how will he react after her failed escape..wil he be angry or amused..(Sorry English is not my first language )

Btw love ur work ❤️✨the childhood fae yandere is my fav✨

Fae Childhood-Friend x GN!Reader

How did you read my mind so well, I was actually just thinking about short one shots for each yandere with an escaped reader. Crying makes this yandere weak so he’s not as charismatic and put-together in this one lol. Also appreciate the compliment and your English is great! ❤️

This particular night while you lay awake beside him you’d worked yourself up and felt particularly brave. But not anymore, not now you’ve been running through the dark woods for what felt like an hour. The trees are thorny and stretch on forever with their leaves successfully covering the whole sky, not even moonlight could peer between the leaves to light the way slightly. You could have sworn your eyes closed if it weren’t for the firefly like bugs floating around and shimmering pools of water here and there.

Scrapes frequently clawed into your skin from prickly branches leaving a sting, at some point you began wondering if the branches were twisting and bending to reach you and claw at you more. And if the roots and needles were trying to grasp around your bare feet- leaving you to stumble rather than run... maybe you should have stayed in bed.

...

He hadn’t fallen asleep fully, he closed his eyes resting and waiting for your return, after you tiptoed out of the bed room presumably for a drink or to use the toilet. After a while he begrudgingly sat up and called with a slight of annoyance in his tone he called your name. The lack of reply made him get out of bed and search for you to drag you back to bed. His whole face darkened knowing you weren’t in the house at all, he gritted his teeth and rushed for the front door.

“Fucking idiot” he wasn’t sure if he was saying that about himself or you. He didn’t bother grab a coat or shoes and opened to run out the door into the cold winter with just his thin night shirt and trousers on. He knew exactly where to look.

...

You didn’t get far until the angry roots and branches began to bend and creak to scrape you, the forest was coming to life and became darker and horrifying the more you ran. At some point you ended up on the forest floor crying, exhausted and terrified. The forest made awful noises and you could see the sky though the thick canopy of leaves, you wasn’t sure if it was bugs or the cold pinching and biting at your exposed skin but it hurt all the same.

Everything ached and all hope of finding that portal was long gone. “Darling?” You heard a exasperated voice, and rushed feet, during his trek through the forest he was angry thinking about the paragraphs of lectures he’ll shout at you, that was until he saw you sitting defeated and broken on the forest floor “my sweet idiot, it isn’t safe out here for your kind” a pitiful tone but oddly full of love, you looked up to see him, all his anger melted away and he just wanted to protect you.

He knelt down in front of you and almost flinched from how cold you’d gotten when he went to wipe away tears and dirt from your face. His face reminded you of when you were both kids, how he desperately would try to stop your crying and distract you from the sting of the scrapes on you knees after you’d fell, but this forest was anything but the idillic nature you both played in. “Your okay now. I’m here” he hushed and brought you into a embrace as he caught his breath.

You hadn’t realised you began to cry again until you heard yourself sob out “I just wanted to go home” his embrace tightened at the thought of you leaving him. He whispered you name in your ear before instructing you “Calm your breathing” and you did, you understood the power he held over you, his ability to put you in a trance like state. And unlike the first time he used it to kidnap you, you are great full -you want suffocating on your breath anymore and sunk comfortably into his arms.

“This is your home now love, it just hasn’t grown on you yet ~but you’re mine you always have been, I can’t let you leave again” he murmured into your hair as he lifted you from the ground, you didn’t have the energy to argue with his words. The walk back was quiet, the woods behaved for him -nothing reached out to scratch or bite at you now, no beady eyes followed you and the forest top now let the moonlight shimmer through.

He carried you out the trees, through the gates, into the garden and then into the house much like the first time you arrived.

...

You expected a scolding and if he was honest he expected to be much more angry with you, that you would put yourself in such danger just to get away from him. Instead here you sat, on the counter in the bathroom in front of him as he (as carefully as he could) disinfected your scrapes -after a rather painful shower with the water dancing on your wounds, like it was making fun of your failed escape.

He only spoke a few words- just reassurances, at a loss of what to say, not wanting to upset you more. Instead he let his actions speak. He detangled your hair gently and helped you into pyjamas. He wasn’t even a bit angry but rather disappointed in himself, you looked so fragile and exhausted and it’s all his fault and insensitivity.

For a man with usually so much to say he truly didn’t know how to comfort his beloved, you looked exhausted so he brought you to bed but before he dragged the blankets over your body for the second time that night, he had to be sure he could sleep without being worried you’d run again.“Love, listen to me” he grabs your face gently “I know it’s a lot and I understand why you did it -but you can’t go outside alone, it’s dangerous and I’m not just saying that for my own benefit. Promise me, love” you tiredly nodded, you wouldn’t go back into those woods again it doesn’t play fair. Nothing about this realm is fair.

He nodded appreciatively, believing you. “we’ll talk more in the morning” he blew out the dim candle on the nightstand and lay down with you, with one less worry about his dear human.

You let him drag you into his chest and found comfort in it, so much so you fell asleep. He didn’t usually hold you like this, fae aren’t really touchy creatures and make for peculiar lovers. He’s a much better lover than most fae due to his history with you, being acclimated to your human emotions through the years growing together, but he still had some improving to do.

He’d been expecting and even cocky at times -telling himself you’ll come around, that you have to because he’s all you have, forgetting that you’re still just a human with different definitions of love. But not from now on “I’ll make you fall in love with me, I’ll make you feel more loved than any human could and you’ll never want to go back. I want to make you happy like i used to”

He takes this as a challenge, prove to you that you’re the only one for him and he for you. Because he is, you just haven’t realised yet.

[winxanity-ii]

SCARLET CHAINS, GOLDEN RIDDLES

ship: kurapika x fem!sphinx!reader warnings: non-explicit ( kinda angsty/sad, but it does have a bittersweet romance, so… win?) word count: 5.3k a/n: I know i said i wouldn't do it now, but i couldn't help my self, loloo. also this piece was inspired by a tweet from Kayla Ancrum (@KaylaAncrum), where she wrote about a man who falls in love with a sphinx and solves her riddles daily. I just had to explore that dynamic with Kurapika and a Sphinx reader! Let me know what y'all think! 🖤✨

★·.·´🇭‌🇺‌🇳‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ × 🇭‌🇺‌🇳‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

Revenge doesn't always bring peace; sometimes it leaves behind something far more haunting.

Kurapika had fulfilled his mission, dismantling the Phantom Troupe and retrieving the Scarlet Eyes that once belonged to his kin. He should have felt victorious, perhaps even a semblance of peace, but instead, he felt hollow, drifting aimlessly in the vastness of the world.

The weight of his chains was gone, but the burden on his heart remained.

In restless strides, he wandered the lands, searching for something he couldn't quite name—purpose, healing, or perhaps a way to finally let go of the rage that had kept him alive for so long.

The bustling city streets did little to distract him from his turmoil.

Kurapika walked among strangers, his eyes scanning the faces that passed by, not really seeing them. The chatter and noise of life around him felt distant, a muffled echo that never reached his ears.

He just got off the phone with Gon, a short conversation that was filled with concern on Gon's part. Kurapika assured him he was fine, though the words tasted like lies even as they left his mouth.

The city was filled with countless distractions—stalls selling exotic wares, street performers drawing in crowds—but Kurapika moved through it all like a ghost.

It was only when he came across a particular stand filled with unique, almost mythical items that he found himself pausing.

There were trinkets, stones carved with symbols he couldn't recognize, feathers from birds that didn't exist in any book he'd ever read, and even vials of shimmering liquid.

Something about the stand drew him in, perhaps the promise of the unknown, the mystery of it all.

As Kurapika stared at a curious amulet shaped like an eye, a voice broke through the haze of his thoughts. "You look like a young man filled with woes."

Turning, he found an old woman seated just beyond the stand, her eyes rooted intently on him.

She was small, her back slightly hunched, with eyes that seemed to look right through him. Her wrinkled hands rested on a small table, a crystal ball sitting between them.

Her presence was almost otherworldly, and Kurapika couldn’t help but feel as if she had been waiting for him.

"Your heart is heavy," she continued, her voice soft but firm, like the rustling of ancient leaves. "You have found what you sought, but now you are lost. Seeking something else, aren't you?"

Kurapika frowned, his first instinct to brush her off, to walk away. He had no time for fortune tellers or their vague prophecies. But something in her gaze held him in place.

Maybe it was the fact that she was right—he was lost, more lost than he had ever been.

Before he could respond, the old woman reached beneath her table and pulled out a worn piece of parchment. She handed it to him, her eyes never leaving his. "Take this map. It shows places where you might find what you seek. A journey is ahead of you, young man, one that may finally bring you peace."

Kurapika took the map, his fingers brushing against the rough surface. He hesitated, staring down at the faded ink and the strange symbols marking various locations. "What kind of journey?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

The old woman smiled, a mysterious curve of her lips. "One that will lead you to the answers you need, not the ones you want. Follow the map, and you may find more than you ever hoped for."

Kurapika glanced at the map again, the markings seeming to shift under his gaze, almost as if they were alive.

He had nothing left to lose.

With a nod, he folded the parchment and tucked it into his pocket, a small spark of something—curiosity, hope—lighting within him.

His travels took him far from the crowded city, into remote villages and forgotten paths.

He heard tales whispered in the dark corners of taverns—rumors of a remote island untouched by time, home to creatures that should have only existed in myths.

The locals spoke of a sphinx—a creature of immense power, wisdom, and mystery. She was said to guard an ancient temple on an isolated island, her riddles a fatal test for any who dared approach.

She could devour the souls of those who failed or offer wisdom to those who succeeded.

It was said that she embodied both mercy and cruelty, bound by the ancient rules of her riddles.

Kurapika's interest was piqued. Perhaps this creature held the answers he sought, or at least the challenge he needed.

Something to pull him out of the hollow void that had settled within him.

The island was not marked on any ordinary map, but the worn parchment he carried seemed to lead him there, the strange symbols aligning with the whispered directions he gathered from those who dared speak of the place.

And so, Kurapika found himself standing on the deck of a small fishing boat, the salty wind tugging at his hair as the island came into view—a shadow against the horizon, shrouded in mist.

He felt a strange pull, a sense that whatever awaited him there might finally give him the closure he needed. He had faced monsters before, both human and otherwise, but something about this journey felt different.

As if, perhaps, it wasn't just about finding answers—but about finding himself.

The island loomed closer, and with it, the promise of riddles, danger, and maybe, just maybe, a way to heal the wounds that revenge had left behind.

Kurapika spent the first few days exploring the island, his feet carrying him along unfamiliar paths, his eyes scanning for clues hidden among the dense forest and crumbling ruins.

He learned the lay of the land—the twisting vines, the rocky cliffs that overlooked the endless ocean, and the small creatures that scurried away at his approach.

The island seemed to breathe, its secrets waiting just beneath the surface, and he was determined to uncover them.

After days of exploring, Kurapika made his way back to the nearby village, his supplies dwindling and his body weary.

It was night by the time he arrived, the village bathed in the soft glow of lanterns, casting long shadows across the cobbled streets.

He found a small tavern at the edge of the village, its warm light spilling out onto the street, the murmur of voices inviting him in.

Kurapika entered, the scent of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filling the air. He made his way to an empty table in the corner, ordering a simple meal and a drink.

The tavern was lively; villagers and travelers alike gathered to unwind, their laughter and chatter a comforting background to his solitude.

He ate slowly, savoring the warmth of the food, the taste of something other than the dried rations he had carried with him.

As he ate, he noticed a small crowd beginning to gather near the fireplace at the center of the room. The voices quieted, replaced by the expectant hush of an audience waiting for a story.

Kurapika's gaze shifted, his interest piqued as an elderly man stepped forward, his hands worn and his eyes twinkling with mischief. The storyteller cleared his throat, a smile playing on his lips as he began to speak.

"Gather 'round, gather 'round," the old man said, his voice carrying easily through the room. "I have a tale for you tonight, one of mystery, of danger, and of beauty beyond imagination."

Kurapika leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly as he listened.

The old man spoke of a creature, a sphinx, who guarded a temple deep within the island—a temple known as the Cave of Mysteries. He described the sphinx as both beautiful and terrifying, her eyes holding the weight of ages, her form a paradox of grace and danger.

The crowd leaned in, captivated by the tale, their faces reflecting a mix of awe and fear.

"They say the Cave of Mysteries holds treasures beyond belief," the old man continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that had the crowd hanging on his every word. "Riches enough to buy an empire, secrets that could grant unimaginable power. But the sphinx, ah, she is not easily bested. Many have tried, and all have failed—her riddles are a test of wit and courage, and the price of failure is steep indeed."

The old man finished his tale, the crowd breaking into murmurs, some laughing nervously, others shaking their heads as if dismissing the story as mere legend.

But Kurapika knew better.

He finished his meal, his mind already turning on how to find the temple and to the mysteries that still lay ahead.

The island held more than just danger—it held the promise of something he had never thought he needed.

So, driven by curiosity and the need for a challenge beyond revenge, Kurapika set off to find the temple, unperturbed by the locals' warnings of danger.

And he intended to see it through, whatever the cost.

The whispers of forgotten creatures and the hint of ancient wisdom called to him, a voice that spoke directly to the hollowness he now carried.

His feet followed the clues, ancient symbols etched into rocks and trees, guiding him deeper into the dense forest of the island.

Each step took him further from the familiar and into the unknown—a test he desperately needed.

The journey was arduous, the air thick with the scent of wild vegetation and the distant echo of creatures unseen.

Kurapika's senses were heightened; every sound, every rustle in the underbrush kept him alert.

Anticipation built within him, a sense that something lay ahead—something that might offer answers, or at least a distraction from the gnawing emptiness left by vengeance.

Finally, he stood before it—the temple, a structure both majestic and haunting, half-covered in creeping vines, its stone surface carved with the same symbols that had guided him here.

The temple seemed almost alive, its golden exterior shimmering in the fading sunlight, the intricate carvings depicting stories of ancient gods and creatures long forgotten.

The entrance was framed by towering pillars, their surfaces etched with worn inscriptions, and the air was thick with an aura of both reverence and dread.

The massive doors of the temple were slightly ajar, revealing only darkness within, as if daring anyone to enter.

But at the base of the stairs sat you—the Sphinx; a creature of paradox, you embodied both grace and danger.

Your powerful form rested elegantly, your tail waving languidly in the air, each movement deliberate and filled with quiet confidence.

Your form was powerful, the body of a lioness with muscles rippling beneath golden fur, yet your face held a beauty that was almost human, framed by a mix of a wild mane and intricate braids that shimmered under the fading sunlight.

Your claws were sharp, glinting with an almost metallic sheen, a reminder of the threat you posed to anyone foolish enough to challenge you.

There was an ethereal quality to you, a faint outline of wings that shimmered in the heat, catching the light in a way that made them seem almost unreal, giving you an otherworldly glow.

Your presence exuded power—a quiet intensity that Kurapika could feel even from a distance, a force that seemed to pulse with the very energy of the island.

The power you exuded was palpable, a quiet but overwhelming force that made even the strongest foes Kurapika had faced—the Chimera Ants, the Phantom Troupe—seem almost mundane by comparison.

There was something about you—something far more enigmatic, a blend of wisdom and danger that set you apart.

But it was your eyes that captivated him most.

As those golden orbs landed on him, they shifted, narrowing into sharp, cat-like slits, assessing him with an intensity that made Kurapika's breath hitch.

They were a deep, haunting shade, filled with the weight of centuries, and they seemed to pierce through him, seeing the parts of himself he tried to keep hidden.

In your eyes, he saw a depth of knowledge that surpassed anything he had ever known, and yet there was something else—a loneliness that he understood all too well.

Intrigued and cautious, he stepped forward, his heart steady, his mind sharp.

You watched him approach, your gaze unwavering, your posture regal.

Silence stretched between you, thick with tension and curiosity. You had seen many travelers before him, men who came seeking glory or power, only to fall before your riddles, their bones now part of the island's forgotten past.

But this one was different. He moved with purpose, not arrogance, his eyes holding a quiet determination that piqued your interest.

Your voice broke the silence, echoing through the empty landscape, carrying with it the weight of ages. "Young man, why do you seek me?"

Kurapika paused, considering his words carefully. "I seek answers," he said, his voice steady. "Answers to questions I cannot yet name. I seek something beyond vengeance. Perhaps you can help me find it."

A small smile tugged at your lips—cryptic, almost amused. "Answers come at a cost," you replied. "And only those who prove themselves worthy may proceed."

Without another word, you issued him a riddle, your voice carrying an authority that demanded his attention.

"Boundless am I, beginningless and endless, forever yet never the same. I am the river that flows and the sky that fades; I am possessed by none, yet present in all. What am I?"

The riddle was complex, woven with layers of meaning that had confounded countless before him. You half-expected him to falter, to hesitate as so many others had.

But he didn't.

Kurapika listened, his eyes never leaving yours, his mind dissecting each word, each nuance. His answer came calmly, confidently, his voice unwavering even in the face of your sharp claws and powerful presence. "Time," he said, as though the riddle was a mere puzzle, a challenge he was born to solve.

For the first time in a century, someone answered correctly.

Surprise flickered in your gaze, quickly masked by your stoic demeanor.

You studied him, this young man who had dared to approach you, who had not flinched under your scrutiny. There was something about him—an emptiness, a need that mirrored your own.

You had been bound to this place for so long, your existence woven into the riddle game, your only connection to others through the trials they failed. But this one had succeeded, and by the ancient rules, he had earned a boon.

"What is your request?" you asked, your voice softer now, curious.

Kurapika thought for a moment, his eyes drifting to the temple behind you, then to the sands around your feet. "For my boon, I wish to stay here," he said finally. "To rest beside you, under the stars, and awaken unharmed. Just for a night."

Your breath caught, an unfamiliar feeling tingling down your spine. The request took you by surprise.

It was such a simple one.

Men usually asked for riches, power, or freedom. But to simply… sleep by your side?

Against your better judgment, you found yourself agreeing. Slowly, you nodded, granting him this boon.

"Very well," you said, gesturing to the smooth sand near the temple steps. "You may rest here tonight, beside me. But know this, wanderer—come dawn, the the wheel of fate turns once more and the ritual will begin anew."

Kurapika nodded, a faint smile touching his lips.

As the two of you lay down, he moved closer, settling down on the warm sands beside you, the night sky stretching endlessly above. The stars blinked into existence, one by one, as silence fell over the island once more.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you felt something shift—a connection, fragile yet real, formed between two lost souls seeking solace.

As the night deepened, you watched him, the quiet resolve in his features, the way his eyes softened as he gazed up at the stars.

The silvery light of the stars reflected in his gray eyes, making them seem almost ethereal, as if the heavens themselves had taken refuge within him. A slight, warm breeze rustled through the air, catching in his blonde hair and ruffling it gently, giving him an almost boyish charm.

As he drifted toward sleep, you kept a close watch, noting the softened lines of his face, how the quiet moments seemed to ease the burdens he carried. His breathing slowed, the tension in his shoulders melting away.

There was a peace in the silence between you, a sense that perhaps, in this fleeting moment, neither of you was truly alone.

But you stayed awake, keeping watch, your mind racing with questions. What kind of man asks a creature like you for something so simple, so intimate? Why didn't he fear you, not even a little?

As dawn crept over the horizon, he stirred beside you, stretching slightly before his eyes blinked open, sleepy but clear.

When he saw you watching him, he didn’t startle or flinch. Instead, he smiled—a small, weary smile that tugged at something deep in your chest.

"Thank you," he said, as if he hadn't just put his life in your hands.

You narrowed your eyes, leaning closer. "Why aren't you afraid of me?"

He paused, thinking over his answer. "I've met monsters before," he said quietly. "I've even become one, in a way. But I don't see a monster when I look at you."

A flicker of irritation sparked within you, though it was dulled by something softer. "You don't know what I am capable of," you warned, voice low.

He only tilted his head. "Maybe not. But I'd like to find out."

And so was the beginning of something neither of you could yet name—a bond forged in riddles, silence, and the unspoken understanding of what it meant to be lost.

Each day, Kurapika worked tirelessly, studying the clues you left behind, learning the nuances of your mind through each challenge in your riddles, each more complex than the last.

Each evening, as the sun set and bathed the island in a warm, golden glow, he appeared again at the temple, his determination unwavering. His intelligence and wit kept him alive, his answers keeping him just close enough to be spared as he engaged in a battle of wits with you.

And each night, he solved your riddle with a grace and precision that began to feel almost routine.

Sometimes, he even looked… amused. As if he enjoyed matching wits with you, as if your challenge was something he relished rather than feared.

You were unused to companionship, your existence long defined by solitude and duty. Yet you found yourself anticipating Kurapika's arrival each day.

You began crafting riddles with a new purpose—not simply to guard, but to challenge him in a way that would make him think, to make him understand you. You dug into old tomes, dusted off forgotten phrases, anything to see if you could stump him.

"I am born of light, yet fear its touch. I dance on water, yet drown in its embrace. I am the silent whisper, the unspoken thought. I am the dream, the hope, the despair. What am I?"

"A shadow."

And yet, time and time again, he would answer correctly, and each time, he seemed to edge closer to you—not physically, but in a way that felt far more profound.

Slowly, you allowed him into your world, seeing in him a spirit kindred to your own.

Nights became more intimate, and not simply because he rested beside you. As the stars blinked into existence above, he would sit by your side and speak of his past—of his clan, his grief, the hollow emptiness that followed his revenge.

You listened, silently absorbing each word, drawn to the depth of his pain and the resilience that had brought him here. You saw the weariness in his eyes, the way they sometimes stared at nothing, as if the world held no color for him anymore.

In return, you began to share cryptic stories of ancient times, tales woven with wisdom and longing, fragments of yourself that had remained hidden for centuries.

Your voice, though calm, carried a weight that Kurapika seemed to understand instinctively. He saw through your cold facade, sensing a deep loneliness that mirrored his own.

And so, night after night, the two of you spoke, your conversations shifting from the guarded tension of strangers to the shared musings of two souls seeking meaning.

You spoke of life, of death, of purpose, and in those moments, you realized how much you had missed the simple act of talking, of connecting.

Your dynamic shifted from hostility to mutual respect, and then to something deeper.

The more time he spent with you, the more he began to see you as something beyond a “monster.” He saw you as a being who was as trapped as he was—bound by duty, by the need to protect something, even if it came at the cost of isolation.

The nights spent under the stars became something precious. You both developed a quiet, profound romance—one that transcended physicality, one that was born out of the fragments of yourselves that you shared with each other.

Now, as he rested beside you, he no longer simply lay in the sand, separate from you. Instead, he was practically nestled against your side, his head resting on your flank, his fingers sometimes absently tracing patterns in your fur as if you were a mere cat.

It was a sight that would have been inconceivable to you not long ago—someone finding comfort in your presence, in the warmth of your body. And yet, there was a peace that settled over both of you in those quiet hours, a comfort that neither of you had known in far too long.

Though, despite your growing bond with Kurapika, you were still bound by your nature to defend your territory from outsiders.

When other travelers occasionally arrived, driven by greed or ignorance, they foolishly attempted your riddles. And when they failed—as they always did—you showed no mercy.

You devoured them with the ferocity of a true predator; the golden sands stained a deep crimson with the aftermath of their foolishness, soaking into the sand until the ground seemed to pulse with the memory of their folly.

But instead of recoiling in horror, Kurapika watched silently, his gaze calm and understanding. He never turned away, never judged you for fulfilling your duty.

Instead, he would place a gentle hand on your hide, his touch soothing as you carried out what you must, a silent guardian beside you.

This side of him fascinated you—the way he accepted you, both the monstrous and compassionate facets of your being.

There was a shared acknowledgment between the two of you—an understanding that you were a creature bound by your instincts and duties, and he was unfazed.

To him, you were not simply a monster, but something more, something deserving of compassion and acceptance.

Together, you formed a duo unlike any other—a pair, a bond between a man who understood darkness and a creature who embodied it.

Time passed as if in a dream.

Kurapika came back, night after night, even as the seasons changed. You watched his hair grow lighter, faint threads of silver weaving through the golden strands. His face, once so sharp and intense, softened with age.

The lines that creased his brow told stories of battles fought and challenges faced, but in the quiet moments with you, those lines seemed to ease.

The way he answered your riddles, too, became more thoughtful, less sharp-edged, though he still never faltered. His intelligence remained, tempered now with the wisdom of age rather than the fire of revenge.

One night, after he'd answered another riddle and claimed his boon by your side, you saw him hesitate, his brows furrowing, lips parting as if he was searching for the right words.

His eyes lingered on you, and there was a sadness in them that you’d never seen before. "Do you ever wish… for a different life?" he asked suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turned away, not wanting him to see the flicker of longing in your own eyes. "A Sphinx does not wish. A Sphinx exists. That is all," you replied, your voice steady, but there was a tremor beneath the surface, a crack in the armor you had worn for so long.

He didn't respond right away, but you felt his gaze on you, warm and understanding in a way that made your chest ache. "Even monsters can wish for more," he whispered, as if confessing a secret.

The silence between you was heavy, filled with unspoken words and shared pain. You knew that he understood your longing, just as you understood his.

Though you had tried to keep your heart distant, you found yourself more attached with each passing night, each shared breath under the vast expanse of stars.

As the years passed, you noticed his struggle. His occasional lapse in memory, the way he would pause, his brow furrowed as he searched for a name that seemed just out of reach.

The way his body moved slower, the once fluid grace of his steps now tinged with hesitation.

You realized you were growing attached, and in your quiet moments, you wrestled with the strange pull he had over you, your love for him subtly guiding you to keep him close.

The realization was both terrifying and beautiful—a feeling you hadn’t expected to know.

In response, you modified your riddles, the challenges that had once been a fierce contest of intellect slowly transforming into something softer.

You wanted him to succeed, to stay by your side.

You crafted simpler riddles, designed to fit his weakening mind, riddles that spoke more of memory and heart than of cleverness. They took on a painful simplicity: "Do you remember who I am?" and "When is it not sunny out?"

You watched him wrestle with these questions, a tragic yet beautiful contrast to the man he once was.

His eyes, still filled with determination, would meet yours, and he would smile—a gentle, tired smile—as he answered.

You treasured his presence, savoring each answer, each memory shared, knowing that time was slipping away. The silver in his hair grew more prominent, his steps slower, but still, he came to you, night after night, until even the simple act of walking to the temple steps became a laborious task.

One night, as he rested against your side, his head nestled against your golden fur, you lowered your head, nuzzling him softly.

He looked up at you, his gaze tired but content, and whispered, "Thank you... for keeping me." His words were filled with gratitude, a warmth that spread through your chest, and you knew, in that moment, that you would never forget him.

Even as the inevitability of time loomed, you stayed by his side, guarding not only the temple but also the fragile, precious connection you had built.

He was no longer just a challenger, no longer just a man seeking answers—he was Kurapika, the one who had seen you for who you truly were, who had brought warmth and meaning to your existence.

One night, you posed a riddle, your voice as steady as ever: "I know not life, yet I bloom and spread; I am sightless, yet your darkest hour, I shall guide you to light. What am I?"

His answer faltered. His eyes, now clouded with age, stared at you, his once steady voice weak and trembling as he began to speak. "I... I think..." He paused, blinking, his brows furrowing in concentration, trying to grasp the answer that seemed just out of reach.

His body had grown frail, his hands unsteady, and he blinked, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the words that had always come so effortlessly before.

You could see the confusion in his gaze, a flicker of fear that he had never shown before—a fear not of you, but of the inevitable weakness that was overtaking him.

Your heart pounded, an unfamiliar rhythm that resonated with something deep and instinctual, your animalistic side recognizing this as a cue—the beginning of the end.

A pang of sorrow cut through you, sharp and deep, as you sensed the end drawing near.

You hesitated, torn between your duty as a guardian and the emotions that had grown within you, emotions you had never imagined you were capable of.

The silence stretched between you that night, heavy with the weight of what was left unsaid, and you pondered, thinking up a riddle so simple that he could answer it even in his sleep.

Something that would remind him, and perhaps even you, of the bond you had shared.

"What is your name?" you finally asked, your voice barely above a whisper, carrying the tenderness of the years you had spent together.

Kurapika blinked, and then his eyes softened, recognition flickering back into their cloudy depths. A faint smile curved his lips, tired and gentle. "Kurapika," he answered, his voice cracking, the sound almost lost in the stillness of the night.

He lay down beside you, his body settling into the warm sands, and as his breathing slowed, he reached out, his hand curling into your golden fur. You felt his fingers tighten slightly, a silent reassurance, and you lowered your head, resting it beside him.

You curled your body around him protectively, your tail wrapping gently over his legs, holding him close as if shielding him from the inevitable. The warmth of your form surrounded him, a final comfort as he drifted into the stillness of sleep.

You stayed with him, your gaze fixed on his face, watching as the life slowly faded from his eyes, his final breath a soft sigh against your skin.

The night seemed to hold its breath, the stars above flickering like distant memories, and when the sun finally began to rise, you held his body close, feeling the weight of solitude return, colder and heavier than ever.

You stayed by his side, the warmth of him slipping away, replaced by the coldness of death.

It was a pain you hadn't known was possible for a creature like you—raw, deep, and unending. And when the sun rose fully above the horizon, bathing the island in its golden light, you knew what you had to do.

In a macabre but loving ritual, you devoured him piece by piece as a way of keeping him close forever. Each bite was filled with sorrow, each fragment of him a reminder of what you had shared.

You would honor him, keep his bones, bleach them under the sun until they were as pale as the sands, and decorate yourself with them.

His ribs became part of your mane, his finger bones woven into the braids of your hair, a token of the only man who ever dared to love the monster.

Days came and went, the seasons changing once again, but you felt the emptiness like a hollow ache, a void that nothing else could fill.

The silence was unbearable, the absence of his presence echoing through the temple, through your very soul.

Beneath the temple's golden arches, you remained, gaze fixed upon the endless horizon. You waited, as you always would, watching for any soul who might bear even a glimmer of the quiet strength and resolve he had shown you.

And even though you knew he would not return, even though you had consumed his body and held his memory within you, a part of you still hoped.

Hoped for the impossible, for a presence that could bring warmth to the cold emptiness left behind.

Because as a wise person once told you, monsters, after all, could still wish.